Winter
by GinnyNoTonic
Summary: Follows on from 'Summer'
1. Chapter 1

WINTER

Chapter 1

The two identical envelopes dropped through the letterbox of Smithy Cottage. Hazel picked them up, looked at the names on each, looked at the postmarks, felt her heart sinking; they had known they were coming, but not the day, not the minute the memories would have to be faced again.

She carried them through to the kitchen, dropping them onto the table in front of Paddy, avoiding the breadboard laden with his toast.

"From the court," she said abruptly, leaning against the worktop. "Do you think we should tell the boys now or wait until they get back tonight?"

"Where's Jackson working?" asked Paddy, feeling flustered, put suddenly on the spot.

"Out Robblesfield way somewhere, I think," replied Hazel; picking up a mug, putting it down again. "It would mean phoning him."

"I think we should leave them," said Paddy, turning away from the table to face Hazel. "A few hours won't make any difference, and it's a day less…" he left the unsaid words hanging in the air, fading into nothingness.

"Yes," agreed Hazel, "best to leave them. Even a few hours, that's good. Aaron…?"

"I don't know," said Paddy, concern etched plain on his face. "He doesn't say anything to me."

Hazel pursed her lips, shook her head to herself; it was so unfair, dragging them back there when in all likelihood – when they all hoped against hope – she corrected herself, they would not have to appear in court.

It had been hanging over their heads like the proverbial Sword of Damocles since their return from holiday two months earlier; a holiday when Aaron had been beaten unconscious in a vicious, homophobic attack, defending his boyfriend, Jackson.

In Scotland, when she and Paddy had rushed to be with them, they had found Jackson, shaken but seeming to cope; they had found Aaron emotionally fragile, but desperate not to admit that fragility. Neither lad had spoken, at least to them, about it since their return.

There had been an emotional outburst between Aaron and Chas, his mother, upon their return; misunderstandings, long-time hurts coming to the surface, threatening to poison the remnants of their relationship. Yet somehow, with a bit if help, a bit of persuasion, they were trying to build a new relationship. They still had a long way to go.

"So we'll leave them, then. Yes?" questioned Hazel, seeking reassurance.

"Yes. I think so. Don't you? Yes, definitely." Paddy dithered, unsure.

"Right then!" said Hazel decisively, sweeping the envelopes up from the table, depositing them on the work top, propped up against the bread bin, leaving them to draw their eyes, dominate the room with their brooding presence for the rest of the day.

….

They were the first things Aaron saw when he got in from his work that afternoon; striding into the kitchen, heading to the sink to wash his hands, his eye was caught by their prominence, their display. Usually any letters were left in an untidy pile in the living room to be discovered eventually by the recipient. These were on show, waiting, needing to be found, ominously loud in the quiet of the kitchen.

Aaron looked at them, filled with sudden dread, not wanting to touch them, not wanting to make them real, not wanting to be forced back, forced to remember. A strange lurching, twisting knot wrenched through his stomach, coldness engulfed his body despite the comfortable warmth of the kitchen. He knew what they were; what they could only be; he didn't want to touch them.

The house seemed to be empty, no noise came from the surgery, no help, no rescue; his eyes didn't move from the two envelopes, he sat at the table, waiting.

Waiting; how long for he didn't know, couldn't guess.

The door slammed; only one person couldn't help but slam the door behind himself; Jackson! But still Aaron couldn't tear his eyes away from the two envelopes, not even to turn, to welcome his lover.

Jackson saw his unmoving back, even before he was fully in the room he sensed the tension around Aaron; standing behind him, both hands found his shoulders, rubbing firmly, before he leant forward, dropping a kiss onto his spiky hair.

"Tell me," said Jackson quietly, continuing to rub Aaron's shoulders, rub away the knot of tension he could feel running through Aaron's body to his fingers.

Aaron lifted one hand to his shoulder, let it rest on top of Jackson's hand, clasped his fingers through Jackson's lower ones. Still silent, he nodded towards the brooding malevolent presence, the envelopes.

"Court?" Jackson asked it as a question, but it was a statement, he knew as well as Aaron what it was, like all of them, he had been waiting for them; expecting them. "You've not opened yours?" He moved awkwardly, leaving his clasped hand in Aarons grip, leaning to pick up both envelopes.

"I couldn't..." Aaron shook his head; a small, dispirited movement, all the remembered pain and anguish flooding through him, taking him back.

"We know what's in it; it'll just be the date," Jackson said firmly, rationally, ignoring the churning beginning to twist deep within him. Reclaiming his hand he slid into the chair next to Aaron's, looking at the two envelopes held in his hands; willing himself to just rip one open.

His hands were shaking. Were his hands really shaking? Suddenly, surprising himself, he did it, he ripped the top on his named envelope.

His eyes flicked down the single page, hardly registering the words, looking only for one thing, one vital thing; the date.

"Second of December," he said, looking over to Aaron. "You gonna open yours?"

Wordlessly Aaron shook his head, his mind was reeling, working out how far away the second of December was, working out how long he would have to live with the anticipation, the dread. Six weeks, almost six weeks, maybe less; he wasn't sure, he couldn't count, couldn't think straight.

Jackson picked up the second envelope, the one with Aaron's name typed on the front.

"Shall I?" he asked.

Aaron nodded still not wanting to touch the letter, still not wanting to let it be real.

Jackson tore open the second letter; he laid it flat on the table, beside his own letter, twins, almost identical save the two names.

Leaving them, he stood, held out his hand to Aaron. "Mum and Paddy might be back at any time, let's go upstairs, I could do with a hug."

With a small, tight smile barely touching his lips, Aaron clasped Jackson's hand, stood, and let himself be led from the room, up the stairs, to their bedroom. Sitting on their bed, Jackson put his arm round his shoulder, pushed him backwards until they lay, Jackson curled around Aaron, holding him, letting him gather his nerve, put their new knowledge into perspective, into its place.

Relishing the strong arms of his boyfriend holding him, keeping him safe, Aaron felt the turmoil inside him begin to subside, fading to a dull ache, a tiny knot of anxiety locked away in the very core of him; a knot of anxiety that he expected to carry for the next six weeks.

As he felt him begin to relax in his arms, Jackson moved his hand against Aaron's side, tiny movements, his hands curved around the firm line of his flank, up and down, just an inch or so, before letting his hand stray further, rucking up his tee shirt, letting his fingertips find the first, thrilling touch of his skin, the first touch of his hard abdomen.

Aaron rolled round a little, cuddling closer, lifting his legs over Jackson's, trapping them, pulling them closer against his arse, snuggling in. He looked up into Jackson's warm chocolate brown eyes, seeing the concern reflected in them.

"Sorry," he said "just freaked me out for a bit there. Daft, I knew they were coming."

"It's okay," said Jackson, smiling down at him. "We could both do without it. But hopefully it will be over in one day, two at most. Could stay up after if you want, a bit of a holiday?"

"In Scotland? In December? Not in the van?" Aaron looked at his boyfriend, wondering if he had gone slightly mad.

"No, not in the van," laughed Jackson. "But we could rent somewhere afterwards, for a week. We'll be alright for money; there's been plenty of overtime recently, for both of us and still time to save. What d'you reckon?"

"I think that is a very good idea," Aaron smiled up at him, lifted his head slightly, very slightly, a hint.

Jackson took the hint, he lowered his head, shifting his position allowing his lips to meet Aaron's, touching lightly, teasing anticipation, tasting the familiar taste of his lover's mouth as his tongue flicked, gently pushing between Aaron's lips, feeling them open in response, tongue meeting tongue. Deeper, hunger fuelling their rising desire, Jackson moved, stretching until he was almost lying on top of Aaron, his hands clasped either side of his face, holding him, pulling him close, deepening their kiss all the while letting his hips push against those below him, aware of the firm, muscular body, feeling the rapid stirring of excitement.

Pausing, easing back to catch his breath, he looked down at Aaron, he smiled, receiving an answering smile, an invitation reaching from his lips to his blue eyes. Holding Aaron's eyes, letting the tip of his tongue slowly lick his own lips; he slid one hand down to Aaron's hip, slid inside his trackkies and boxers, easing the material low, lower, shifting his own body to allow Aaron to lift his arse as the lowering garments released his growing cock. Returning his lips to Aaron's, Jackson let his fingers stray to Aaron's hard cock, teasing, feather light touches, just until he felt Aaron's shuddering groan of desire beneath him, betraying his need, urging him on. Gripping his shaft harder, Jackson began to move his hand up and down, finding his rhythm, feeling it being reflected in the subtle movement of Aaron's body. He could feel his hand getting sticky with leaking juice, juice he didn't want to waste; he moved, sliding lower down the bed, moving his lips close to Aaron's jutting cock, kissing, letting his tongue gently lick his slit, teasing it, tasting him. Quickly, urgently, he took the length of Aaron's cock into his mouth, swallowing, moving his mouth up and down; up and down...suddenly Aaron's hands gripped Jackson's shoulders, held him as his hips thrust, harder, harder, betraying his need as he fucked Jackson's face, satisfying himself until he came, filling Jackson's mouth with cock and cum.

Even as he collapsed back onto the bed, his breath coming in gasps, Jackson pushed him, rolling him over, wanting, needing, his own satisfaction. Unzipping, pushing his jeans from his legs, he let his hands rub Aaron's butt cheeks, harder as he felt Aaron begin to push back against him, heard a breathy groan escape from his lips half hidden in the bedcovers. Going down, Jackson began tonguing Aaron's tight hole, his mouth still wet with Aaron's cum, licking, teasing, feeling it tense, contract, relax in anticipation, in need. He slid a finger easily in, full in, pushed, pushed again, let another join it, stretching, preparing for the moment he slid his own rigid cock in, just a little at first, just a little until he could hold back no longer, animal need taking over all his senses, he entered him fully, thrusting, pounding deeper and deeper, harder and harder until he came, exploding in his head and cock, his world bursting into stars.

Desire satisfied, he rolled from Aaron's back, lay, his eyes closed, catching his breath. Aaron hitched his trackkies up, turned towards Jackson, lying on his side, one hand supporting his head; he gazed admiringly at Jackson's naked lower half, let his fingers trail lightly over his thigh before moving closer...

Jackson caught his fingers before they reached their destination. He smiled, deflecting the challenge, the invitation in Aaron's gaze.

"We should get back downstairs," he murmured, "they won't be much longer. And they'll want to talk. About the letters."

Aaron moved his hand, curled into Jackson's arms. "Five minutes, then we'll move."

Downstairs, the front door banged closed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Dragging his tee shirt straight, Aaron hurtled down the stairs, embarrassment lending wings to his feet. He didn't know whether the door had banged behind Paddy or Hazel, but it didn't matter, he didn't want either of them to realise what they had been doing upstairs.

Paddy was standing in the kitchen, one of the letters in his hand.

"Sorry; it was just lying...didn't think you'd mind...otherwise..." stumbling over his words, he let them trail away to nothing.

"It's fine, Paddy," said Aaron, moving towards the kettle, filling it, need to give himself time to catch his breath, regain his composure, distract his thoughts. "Coffee?"

"Umm, yes. December. The second of December. What...where...have you decide where you are staying? Does Hazel know yet? Jackson?"

"Jackson's upstairs, getting washed," Aaron lifted three mugs from the cupboard, keeping his back to Paddy, hoping he wouldn't notice the flush colouring his cheeks as he thought of Jackson. Upstairs. And the reason he needed to wash his face.

"No, Hazel doesn't know yet and we haven't had chance to even begin thinking about where we're staying or anything." He answered Paddy's questions in reverse order, spooning coffee into the mugs; keeping occupied.

"We'll come with you...both of us. At least...I'm sure Hazel will want to come for Jackson."

Aaron was saved from answering, saved from considering Paddy's statement; in the few moments they had been speaking, he had never thought of either Paddy or Hazel going with them.

Jackson came into the kitchen, his hair wet, his face shiny clean; he smiled at Aaron, his eyes sparkling with mischief, with remembered, recent passion.

"Hi Paddy. Dust!" he said, rubbing his damp hair. He nodded towards the letters as he took the proffered mug of coffee from Aaron, "you've seen them then?"

"Yes...I. Are you alright with this Aaron? You seem..." he paused, looking between the two lads, unable to find the word he was looking for.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Aaron tried to sound reassuring; he smiled at Jackson. "Well, I did feel a bit freaked by it, but we've...erm...we've talked; it's okay."

Jackson dropped his mug heavily onto the work top; he began to laugh at Aaron's words, turning it into a cough, disguising his laughter. "Sorry," he spluttered. "Lumps."

Paddy looked at him askance, momentarily distracted. "Have you spoken to your mum, Jackson?" he asked.

"No," said Jackson, struggling to get control of his features. "No I haven't, not yet."

"I was saying to Aaron, just then," Paddy began, "before you came down, before...well...we'll come with you, I will, I mean, and I'm sure Hazel will."

"Oh!" said Jackson, looking at Aaron who remained silent, only raising his eyebrows. "Oh, right. Thanks. We thought we might stay up for a bit of a holiday afterwards though. Didn't we Aaron?"

"Yeah," said Aaron, nodding but adding nothing more.

"Good idea! Great idea!" enthused Paddy awkwardly. "But not in the van?"

"No Paddy, not in the van," said Aaron, jumping in before Jackson had a chance to speak. We'll rent somewhere."

"Where you stayed before? The chalet?"

"Paddy! We don't know! We've not really had chance to speak about it, we only just got in from work ahead of you." Aaron felt himself blush, remembering, even as he was beginning to feel suffocated by Paddy's concern, by his need to plan already.

"Sorry, sorry," said Paddy, flustered.

"It's fine," said Aaron firmly, wanting to end the conversation, knowing it could only be postponed until Hazel arrived, until she added her voice to the clamour. "Shall I stick something on for tea, burgers?"

"Yes," said Jackson, his voice clashing with Paddy.

"No!" exclaimed Paddy. "Hazel is doing chicken curry!"

"Chicken curry!" echoed Jackson and Aaron in perfect time. Chicken curry; Hazel's remedy for all trauma from a broken bone to a broken heart.

"The post had come before she went out, we guessed...she wanted to make you curry," bumbled Paddy.

Jackson shook his head a little; his mother was indomitable, unstoppable, like a steam train once she got the bit between her teeth. Jackson had no doubt, no doubt at all that she, and Paddy, would return with them to Scotland.

"Pint," he said to Aaron before looking to Paddy, including him in the invitation.

"Deffo!" agreed Aaron, moving immediately towards the door, leaving his coffee mug at the sink, still half full.

"No. Thanks," said Paddy. "Stuff to finish. In the surgery. Notes."

Relieved, Aaron and Jackson escaped into the already darkening October night, the lights of the Woolpack drawing them onwards, across the short distance of road between the two buildings.

Pushing open the door, into the warmth, the light, the buzz of many conversations, Aaron groaned to himself; the first person he saw at the bar was Chas, his mother, sandwiched between his Uncle Cain and Katie. From the shrieking volume of her laughter he knew the half pint in front of her wasn't her first. If Jackson hadn't been so hard on his heels, he would have turned, left before she saw him, left before she could shower him with the drink-fuelled love that left him cold, empty, doubting.

Too late, too late, even as he turned, pushed against Jackson, wanting to back out, she had seen him, Jackson had seen her; too late, there was no escape.

Pushing him further through the door, Jackson knew Aaron just wanted to run, he could have done without Chas himself, they could both have done with a bit of peace amid the comfortable though distant companionship of the pub, peace to talk about it, to ignore it. Now there was no chance of peace, of time alone.

"You'll have to tell her," Jackson whispered urgently behind Aaron as he stood at the bar, as far from Chas as he could.

"Why? She's drunk," Aaron hissed back over his shoulder.

"She's not too bad, and she needs to hear it from you, now, especially as Paddy and my mum already know; you can't let her hear it three weeks down the road."

Aaron glared at him; he knew he was right, but he wished he had not seen her at all, could avoid telling her, for tonight at least.

Aaron took a long, needy swig from his pint, hardly giving Diane a chance to set it on the bar in front of him. He knew he needed to make a move, get it over with, he could see Jackson waiting, knew there could be no escape. He took another mouthful, wasting time. Jackson nodded encouragingly.

"Mam," he moved closer to her. "Can I have a word?" Without waiting to see if she followed, he moved away towards a table at the back of the pub, a table Jackson had already claimed.

"Aaron! Jackson!" enthusiastically, cheerfully loud, bringing her drink with her, she moved carefully behind Aaron. "Boys!"

"Mam, please," growled Aaron, flinging himself next to Jackson, waiting for Chas to carefully lower herself into a chair opposite.

"Oh, Aaron!" she said, stretching each vowel, loading his name with slurred affection.

"Mam! We've got a date. For court. In Scotland."

"When?" Cain had followed Chas, stood behind into her as she slumped in the chair. He glowered down at the two lads.

"Second of December," replied Aaron shortly.

"We'll come with you," Cain stated baldly.

"What! Aaron's voice, face, betrayed his shock. Whatever he had expected, whatever reaction, it hadn't been that, not from Cain.

"Of course, Aaron," slurred Chas. "We'll definitely be there this time, won't we Cain."

"You don't have to," said Aaron hurriedly, looking desperately to Jackson for help, for something that wasn't forthcoming. "There's no need, there won't be anything for you to do."

"Don't need to _do_ anything," said Cain. "But we will be there for you, _this_ time," he added, his words reminding Aaron that he had not called his family when he had been so badly beaten. When, apart from Jackson, Paddy and Hazel had been the people he wanted, needed; who had been there for them both, without hesitation.

"Right. Fine. Whatever," said Aaron, trying to hide his feeling that the weight of his family was suddenly bearing down upon him; hoping that when his mam sobered up she would see it was a bad idea for her and Cain to come to Scotland with them? Perhaps he could put Cain off; he'd try in work tomorrow.

Having said his piece, Cain wandered away, quickly followed by Chas, back to her girly drinking friends.

"Thanks for your help, there," grumbled Aaron, his pint nearly done. "Another?"

"Well out of my depth with your lot!" exclaimed Jackson. "I'll get these." He waited on Aaron swallowing the last drops of his lager before heading back to the bar.

Aaron twirled a beer mat in his fingers, absentmindedly picking at it, shredding it; he couldn't believe Cain! Announcing that he and Chas would come too! He shook his head to himself; this needed to stop, they couldn't come, they just couldn't. He looked at his hands, at the crumbs of beer mat tumbling through his fingers.

Jackson was grinning as he came back to the table with the pints.

"Sorry," he said. "Perhaps we should have just left when we saw her. Do you think they are serious? About coming?"

"At the moment, yes," said Aaron, sighing. "What the hell are we gonna do Jackson? What are they gonna say when they hear that Paddy and Hazel are coming? They can't all come, can they?"

"Thank goodness for chicken curry, then," said Jackson. "I reckon mum might be glad of it when she hears the news. Although possibly a bottle of white might be needed too"

"Oh god!" groaned Aaron, could the night get any worse he wondered. "We're gonna have to tell them aren't we? Tonight."

"Yep!" agreed Jackson, still smiling.

Aaron noticed, noticed the smile, noticed that he didn't seem to be worrying, that he showed no signs of the nagging, galling dread that was filling Aaron as he thought of the court case, but even more so, the thought of their companions, their champions, their support.

"Well what are you still smiling about then?" he demanded, a little crossly.

"Because it's mad! They're mad, the situation is mad. And we've got weeks to get through – with all of them – and if I don't..." he paused, searching, thinking. "If I don't...appreciate the madness, it will be...unbearable." His voice dropped to a whisper with his last words, his eyes too, dropped, hiding the pain, the memories that were so close under the surface of his calm. "If I don't try to smile, well...then I'll be...in pieces."

Aaron tried to catch his eyes with his own; a moment, maybe two before he looked up, was caught in the blue gaze of his lover, was wrapped in the unspoken care urged upon him. Aaron touched his leg gently against Jackson's own, tried to hold him without touching, leap the inches between them.

"You're right," he said, realising as the words left his lips, that Jackson was truly right. "It is mad. We'd better go and face the chicken curry. And tell them."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Who does that woman think she is?" Hazel banged the saucepan lid on the worktop; standing awkwardly in the kitchen, Jackson, Aaron and Paddy jumped, none of them brave enough to interrupt her.

"I mean she hardly bothers with you – no offense Aaron love – then announces, when she's drunk, drunk! she is coming to Scotland!" Four plates were thumped enthusiastically down.

"And will she be any use? Is a chocolate teapot any use?" Rice was scooped from the saucepan, miraculously landing on each plate, in spite of the ferocity of its short journey.

"And Cain! What's he going to do? Glare at the judge until he finds them all guilty?" The curry smelt wonderful; it really didn't deserve to be unceremoniously slapped down in the centre of each plate.

"I think we'll take ours through to the living room," began Jackson hesitantly, nudging Aaron to join him in taking a plate and escaping.

"Sit down!" Hazel barked in a voice that brooked no dissent.

The three men looked at each other; Hazel in full fury was a force of nature to be reckoned with. They quickly each slid into seats at the kitchen table; Jackson and Aaron exchanging glances, even the cushion of two pints each of Dutch courage wasn't enough to induce them to defy Hazel and leave the room.

"Now," Hazel passed the plates round the table, sitting at last herself. "We are going to have a Nice Family Dinner, aren't we Paddy?"

Terror swept across Paddy's face as he stumbled and stuttered, trying to find an answer.

"I'm sorry Aaron, love," Hazel continued without waiting for Paddy's delayed answer. "I know she's your mum and all, and you've been trying so hard to get things back on track with her, but really! If you don't want her to come, you'll just have to tell her!"

"Yes...erm...no. I don't know really..." put on the spot, Aaron wasn't sure what to say, wasn't sure what he felt. It had only been a few hours since they found out the date of the trial, the date they had to go back to Scotland. In that short time he had felt so overwhelmed at the thought of having to confront what had happened there, that he just want to hide for the next six weeks. Then Jackson had taken him, made everything alright again; until Chas and Cain had made their announcement, their stunning, surprising and unwelcome announcement. His head was mince; just now, right at this moment, as Hazel was speaking, he didn't know what to think.

"Can we just change the subject, Mum," Jackson began, "while we're at our tea?"

"Of course we can, Jackson," replied Hazel, firmly. "But I just wanted Aaron to know that he mustn't let Chas and Cain bully him; it's what he wants that's important; what you both want."

Jackson looked at his mother; she had a good heart really, just a little...overwhelming sometimes. He smiled a little to himself; he loved her for championing his boyfriend, for standing up for him, prepared to go into battle for him, for them. But sometimes, sometimes he wished she would just shut up.

...

The bedroom was illuminated by the light of the single street lamp outside the window leaving the room midnight blue, shadowy. The only noise, quiet tunes from late night radio, the volume low, a gentle background melody to sleep, or something else; unheard. The bed was warm, banishing the chill of the late October night; underneath the covers, Aaron lay on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arms, thinking of nothing except the touch of Jackson's fingers running the length of his back, the kisses he dropped onto his shoulder, his neck; he wished he could stop the world, he wished he could keep these moments forever.

"I'm sorry about mum, earlier," said Jackson quietly. "She was a bit..."

"Nah, she was fine," Aaron murmured, not wanting to break the spell created by the magical caressing fingers roaming over his back, his arse. "It was quiet nice actually, she gets pretty fired up, doesn't she?"

He was smiling as he spoke, Jackson could hear the smile in his voice, he was glad; earlier that afternoon, when he got home from work and found Aaron so freaked, so fragile again, he had worried that he would be overwhelmed by memories, by nightmares for the weeks before the trial.

Under his touch, he felt Aaron moving against his fingers; increasing the frequency of his kisses, soon Aaron turned to receive them on his mouth rather than his back and shoulder; gentle tender kisses. Sliding his hand underneath Jackson's neck, he hugged him close, capturing Jackson's legs with his own, skin hard against skin.

"Jay," he began.

"Umm," Jackson's voice was muffled, his face turned into Aaron's body.

"Do you mind if we don't...tonight?"

"So long as you don't move a single muscle, babes," Jackson replied sleepily, "because I'm just too comfy to move."

"I won't then," smiled Aaron into the darkness, dropping a kiss onto Jackson's curls.

…

Hitting something felt good, felt great in fact, feeling the connection, the vibration radiating through his arm, through his body; it was pure satisfaction. He hit out again, harder.

"Oi! What's that engine ever done to you?" growled Cain from the depths of the garage.

"Nothing" Aaron snapped back, raising the hammer, ready to let it drop, smash.

"Aaron!"

"What?" Aaron threw the hammer onto the floor, the clattering crash echoing through the building; he turned to glare at his uncle.

"Is this about last night? Your mam and me, coming to Scotland for the trial?"

"No."

"Liar!"

Aaron just glared back at his uncle, mirror images of each other, neither wanting to back down; Aaron knew he would be the one to drop his eyes first, to back down first. Getting it over with, he turned away, stretching his arms above his head, bringing them down to rest on his head, rubbing his spiky hair. He closed his eyes; breathed deeply, wondered what the hell he should say; saying nothing.

"She was gutted, you know."

"What? When?" Aaron looked at his uncle.

"Last time. When you were away, "said Cain. "Oh go and stick the kettle on, I need a brew," suddenly his voice sounded cross, exasperated. He stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out a handful of coins "and then get across to the café and get bacon rolls for both of us."

Aaron looked at the coins suddenly thrust into his hands; his uncle could always do this to him, leave him feeling confused, muddled, unsure where he stood with him. Moving to the back of the garage, he filled the kettle, flicked the switch, reached for two mugs, dropped a tea bag into one, spooned coffee into the second, then left, heading to the café for the rolls.

"She knows she should have just gone, as soon as she heard, whether you phoned her or not" said Cain, continuing the conversation a few minutes later, munching his bacon roll, his tea at his elbow.

"Yeah, well…I am sorry I didn't phone her, but…" Aaron let the words hang in the air.

"It's done now, can't be helped. And I do understand, she can be a bit, y'know, too much. But you need to let her come to Scotland if she wants to; give her a chance; she wants to feel part of your life. She is trying to do right by you, despite her cock-ups, and believe me; she knows what they are far better than you"

"Yeah, I don't mind, really, though it was a bit of a shock last night" said Aaron quietly. "But I don't know what you think you can do there; at the trial. Hopefully we won't even have to appear."

"Like I said last night, it's not a question of _doing _anything, at least not if the judge sees sense and they get sent down. If not, well," he paused, "you might be a fucking poof, but those little shites are not getting away with what they did to you and Jackson."

"Sheriff," said Aaron, suddenly distracted.

"You what?"

"He's a Sheriff, in a Sheriff Court, in Scotland," even as he spoke Aaron's mind was elsewhere, turning Cain's words over in his mind. Words he knew had been shouted at them that night, that hellish night, words he had heard muttered in Hotton when he had been out with Jackson. Words he hadn't expected Cain to say, at least not to his face, but, somehow, it was okay, he didn't mind. How did that work?

Jackson had always said to him there was more to his uncle than he knew or understood, perhaps there was something to that, perhaps he was right. He had called him a poof, a fucking poof, words that should hurt; words that should cut him to the core. But as Cain just said them, they hadn't, they didn't; it was almost as though he was taking him, claiming him, protecting him.

"Aaron!"

"What?"

"You were miles away. I was asking about Paddy and Hazel? They'll be going?"

"Err…yeah, they are. I don't think Jackson could stop Hazel even if he wanted to," a small smile touched Aaron's lips.

"What's she like? As a mother-in-law?"

"Not quite that," grinned Aaron. "She's okay actually, pretty good. Wouldn't want to get on her wrong side though!"

"No," laughed Cain. "I'm glad she's okay with you; and you and Jackson, you're okay?" he looked at his nephew, wondering if he understood anything.

"We're fine;" Aaron smiled, thinking of Jackson. "We're planning staying on afterwards, just Jackson and me, for a week or so, for a holiday" Aaron told him "But we don't know where we are staying yet," he added hurriedly, "either for the trial or afterwards."

"Don't worry, Chas and I will find somewhere else to stay, wouldn't want to cramp your style. Though Scotland, in December! Rather you than me! Right, get back to work, and don't wreck that engine."

He watched his nephew lift their two mugs, put them in the small sink and splash water into them. He pursed his lips together, shook his head a little to himself, watching him; he'd changed a lot, this past year, and it wasn't thanks to any of their lot, the Dingles; despite trying to defend his sister, argue her corner, she had never done right by the lad, and probably never would, however much she tried, things might never be right between mother and son. They owed Paddy, and now it appeared, they owed Jackson too.

Aaron searched for the hammer he had thrown, went back to the engine, hit something, hard, and smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"There's a Hallowe'en party night at Bar West on Saturday," said Jackson, looking at the screen of his mobile, answering the ping of its message alert tone. "D'you fancy it?"

"Yeah, if you like, who text?" Aaron was sitting on the desk in the surgery, his back to Jackson who had been busy at the computer until his phone chirped.

"Robbie, y'know, the electrician, lives the other side of Hotton, with the teacher, can't remember his name. It's fancy dress."

"What is?"

"Hallowe'en night, Bar West, I just said,"

"Err...no," said Aaron, swivelling round on the desk to face him. "You said there was a Hallowe'en party, nothing about it being fancy dress. Just don't expect me to dress up!"

"Oh, party pooper!" teased Jackson.

"Dream on!" Aaron grinned back at him. "So I take it you are going to dress up then?"

"Of course," said Jackson. "Not," laughing, he saw the look of incredulity on Aaron's face, giving way to a smile as he realised he was being teased.

"Are you finding anything?" Aaron nodded at the computer.

"Yeah, some," Jackson said turning the screen a little so that Aaron could see. He had been on the internet, checking out accommodation for their holiday. "Depends where you want to go after the trial; north again, further than we were before, or south, any where really. Where do you wanna go?"

"Oh I don't know," huffed Aaron, "I don't know where's nice; I liked where we were last time, and it's not like we're gonna be doing anything, just lazing around."

"Getting laid?" said Jackson, raising his eyebrows, opening his chocolate brown eyes wide.

"If you're lucky!" smiled Aaron. "Hey! I wonder if they have the hot tubs going in the winter?"

"They might be under three feet of snow by December!"

"So? You'd only be cold for a minute running between the chalet and tub, and I'm sure we'd be able to keep warm enough in there," Aaron smiled at Jackson, the very tip of his tongue flicking over his lips, teasingly; his blue eyes fixed on Jackson's face as he remembered their times in the hot tub, back in the summer.

"Do you want me to see if they have any vacancies then," asked Jackson.

"Go for it," said Aaron, pleased. Although the chalet was associated with some difficult memories, Aaron knew they had both enjoyed their time there. "Least we won't need babysitters this time," he grinned.

Jackson concentrated on the computer for a few minutes, his attention fixed to the screen.

"Need to phone for up to date vacancies," said Jackson abruptly, reaching for his mobile. "D'you fancy making a coffee?" asked Jackson, punching a number into his phone. "I'll come through for it," he added as Aaron slid off the desk, heading back through to the cottage.

Jackson watched him go, smiling to himself; he did need to phone about the chalet, but there was another call he wanted to make, a little surprise, and he didn't want Aaron to know about it, not just yet.

Aaron was just pouring water into their two mugs when Jackson walked into the kitchen; no one else was there, his mum was taking an art class and Paddy was out on a call somewhere.

"Sorted," grinned Jackson. "Same chalet and all! Happy?"

"Yeah, thanks." Aaron moved away from the work top, moved to Jackson, moved close enough to kiss him; resting his hands on his hips, pulling him closer, letting their lips meet, gently, tenderly; a kiss full of comfort, closeness, a kiss full of promise. As they pulled apart, Jackson gazed into the blue eyes of his boyfriend, enjoying his delight at the prospect of their return to Scotland; hoping that he could keep that in his mind, not get overwhelmed by what had to come before it; the trial.

"What about somewhere to stay while the trial's on?" asked Aaron.

"Not yet, thought I'd wait for mum and Paddy, see if they had any preferences," replied Jackson, "hotel, B and B. Maybe we should just say to Cain and Chas to stay in the same place?"

"What! No way!" Aaron scowled at him.

Jackson said nothing, just looked at him, waiting; he knew Aaron, knew how his mind worked, knew him as though he was inside his head.

"You think we should, don't you?" groaned Aaron, looking at the steady brown gazing at him, patiently, waiting for him to make the right decision.

"I think you should suggest it, yes. A gesture," agreed Jackson. She would be delighted. And they still might stay on their own."

"Oh Jackson!" Aaron breathed, rubbing his hand over his head, his eyes closed as he accepted what Jackson had said, that he had a point, that he was right.

"Okay, I'll ask them, if it'll make you happy," said Aaron.

"It's about you, Aaron, you'll feel good about it too, promise." Jackson smiled at him; even as Aaron shook his head in disbelief at what he had just agreed to.

...

He would be late for work, but Aaron didn't care. He had told Jackson he would do it, and after bottling it last night, he wanted to get it over with first thing. It was annoying there had been no answer at Mill Cottage when he had knocked, hammered, at the door; it meant he had to trek all the way out to the factory.

He slipped through the main doors, into the entrance hall; even from here he could hear the sharp laughter of the gathered women sharing their early morning gossip. Well, no doubt they would have more to say after he stuck his head round the door, looked for his mam, something he'd never done here before, never sought her out at her work.

Tentatively he pushed open the door into the work area; he could see Chas, facing the conveyor belt, her back to him, unaware.

Laurel saw him first, saw his hesitation. "Chas," she nodded. "Aaron; at the door."

Disbelieving; quickly Chas turned, stunned to see Aaron standing, unsure what to do now.

"Aaron!" she jumped up, he seat clattering backwards in her haste. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"Nothing," he muttered, feeling awkward. "Just wanted a word."

Moving quickly, Chas dragged him away from the shop floor into the small kitchen. "There must be something wrong for you to come up here, tell me?" she demanded.

"There's nothing wrong," said Aaron, scowling crossly, his carefully prepared speech ruined by Chas's worry. He took a deep breath, bit his bottom lip for a second or two; there would be no going back once he had spoken, asked her.

"Jackson is sorting out where we are staying, during the trial. Do you and Cain want to stay with us and Paddy and Hazel?

"But Cain said..." began Chas, surprise etched on her face, her features suddenly softer, her usually harsh outer shell stripped away. "Oh Aaron! Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," said Aaron. "If it's what you want," he smiled at her, suddenly realising that he didn't mind; it was another step forward, another step in the right direction.

"Thank you," she said; her voice unusually quiet. "Thank you, son. I'd errr...I'd like that very much," she paused, looking at him; "better get back now though." She smiled at Aaron, shaking her head at the same time, just the tiniest little movement.

Aaron noticed, noticed the smile; Jackson had been right, Jackson often was. Now he only had to see Cain.

...

"You're late!" growled Cain from under the bonnet of a silver Mondeo.

"Not very," snarled back Aaron, rising to the bait.

"Well you should have been here on time!" continued Cain, standing in front of Aaron challengingly; obviously out of sorts. "Lover boy keeping you, was he?"

"I was up at the factory," snapped Aaron, his good mood evaporating. "I was telling me mam that if you and her wanted to stay at the same place as the rest of us, that was fine. Wish I'd not bothered now!" he added, shouldering his way past his uncle.

"Oi!" exclaimed Cain, reaching out, pulling him back, glaring at him. "Why didn't you say so?"

"Hardly gave me chance, did you!"

"Ah. Well. So why d'you do that. Thought you didn't want us anywhere near you?

"Yeah, well," Aaron lowered his head, kicked at a stone on the ground with his booted foot, wasting time as he decided what to say. "Jackson thought I was wrong," he eventually muttered. "He thought me mam would like it if we were all together."

"Sound bloke, your Jackson," said Cain, his voice calmer, more reasonable. "Look, I'm sorry, alright. If you and Chas are alright with that, that's fine by me; go for it." He looked at Aaron, nodded, silent affirmation of his words.

"I'll tell Jackson," said Aaron, still wary, "he's sorting everything out."

"Fine! Look Aaron," said Cain, calling out after his retreating back as he moved further into the garage, "I'm sorry, alright."

"Whatever,"

Cain watched him go, his lips pursed in annoyance. But not at Aaron, not this time.

...

They could hear the music from across the street, unusually for Bar West, blaring out. Hallowe'en! A large cut out pumpkin sat at the door, small orange pumpkin-shaped lights were draped at the windows.

"What on earth is that they are playing?" questioned Aaron, his face scrunched up in distaste at the music.

"Yeay!" Jackson whooped. "It's the Monster Mash, ages old, from nineteen oatcake. Excellent!"

"You like that?" questioned Aaron as they pushed through the door, into the bar, into the noise of music, voices, merging into one, embracing them, pulling them in, through the door.

It was busy, busier than Aaron had ever seen the place; weaving their way to the bar, weaving through closely packed bodies, between ghosts and pirates, witches and cats, between short haired dykes – were they in fancy dress or not? – between the obvious tranny – over the top and sparkling – and the undecided cowboy.

Aaron was glad to see they were not the only ones not in fancy dress, although, letting his eyes flick over Jackson as he followed him closely, he had to admit, his boyfriend was looking hot, just jeans and a new shirt, one of the checks he loved so much, an irrational addiction, in Aaron's opinion, but this one, dark in honour of Hallowe'en, a mix of black, deep purple and midnight blue sounded like it shouldn't work, but it did. And with the neck unbuttoned wide open, his summer tan not yet faded, the glint of silver, the warm amber glow of his necklaces...well! It was hard to only look; only look when all he wanted to do was to be alone and remove that shirt – rip it off as quickly as he could, rip off his jeans, devour his body; carefully, seductively undo each button, teasing, making him wait, increasing the anticipation, before...before...

Jackson turned and thrust two bottles into his hand, reaching back for two more for himself.

"The basement is open tonight, live music later, disco upstairs," he shouted above the noise. "Where d'you want to go?"

"Is it worth queuing for the pool table?" Aaron shouted back, his mouth almost at Jackson's ear.

"Probably not," replied Jackson, moving so that he in turn had his lips to Aaron's ear. "Let's just have a scout around, see if we can see Robbie and whatsizface."

"Simon," yelled back Aaron. "I remembered his name. The teacher. Simon."

Moving again, beginning to push through the crowd, Jackson reached back, caught Aaron's hand, caught it tightly, squeezed, reassured; fingers entwined, he held his hand as though he never wanted to let go.

It was quieter as they moved from the bar to the stair well, the poorly lit landing, stairs leading up and down, a choice. Moving toward the steps, decision made, stepping upwards, Jackson turned, took Aaron in his arms, pulled him to one side, out of the steady stream of people passing, into the darkest corner.

Hugging him to him, hungrily seeking his lips, opening his mouth with his tongue, sliding his hand behind Aaron's head, pulling him in, deepening kisses, needing him, badly, achingly, feeling his body respond, needing to push his hips against Aaron's. Hard.

"Jeez Aaron!" whispered Jackson urgently, letting their lips part for a moment. "I want you so much. How the hell have you done this to me?

Aaron looked at Jackson, looked into his huge chocolate brown eyes, dark with desire, knew his own body was responding, needing, needing so much, needing so much it almost hurt, in his heart and his...

"I'm gonna have you," he whispered to Jackson, heard despite the relentless noise. "I can't wait, I want you so much."

Jackson looked into the lust filled blue eyes of his lover, bright with want and excitement. "C'mon," he whispered. "I know just the place!"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Aaron couldn't keep the smile from his face as he zipped up his jeans, looking over at Jackson, his movements mirrored his own, the smile on his face mirrored his own; delight, satisfaction, two cats that had tasted cream.

The music had grown louder; although the disco wasn't yet in full swing, more people had spread into the upstairs bar but hadn't ventured as far back as the furthest alcove; but it wouldn't be long. Flicking their eyes over each other, a last minute check before slipping back, heading downstairs again, joining the queue at the bar. It was easier to move in there now with people beginning to spread throughout the three floored building.

Clutching their fresh drinks, they moved toward the pool table; there was little chance of getting on, coins stretched along the wooden edging of the table, but a couple of seats suddenly were empty, moving quickly they grabbed them, sliding along the shiny leather, their bodies bumping together, laughing.

Jackson slipped his arm around Aaron's shoulders, feeling him move a little lower, getting comfortable. A few months ago he would have had a hairy fit if he had so much as touched his hand, even here in Bar West, reflected Jackson, allowing his fingers to rub, caress, Aaron's neck, tiny movements, reaching up into his short hair, letting the very tips of his fingers feel its spiky roughness; feeling him moving back, just a little, enjoying the sensation.

Aaron lifted the bottle of beer to his lips, took a long drink; he felt good after...he could happily sit there for the evening, beside Jackson, watching the people around them.

Suddenly two identical zombies loomed up in front of them, their faces heavy with make-up, disguising them.

"Shove up, Jackson," the first zombie said, shouted almost, above the noise.

"Robbie!" exclaimed Jackson, "didn't recognise you there!"

"We couldn't decide if we wanted to be clones or zombies, so we settled on zombie clones," said Robbie, pushing his way onto the seat next to Jackson. "Have you got money up?" he continued, nodding at the pool table.

"Nah," replied Jackson, "just grabbed the empty seats."

"We're going upstairs for the disco," said Simon, the second zombie, "a couple of the 6th formers are running it; just hope they don't recognise me!"

"I don't think your own mother would recognise you," laughed Jackson.

"Unlike you two," said Robbie.

"It was him," said Aaron quickly, "I was happy to be Uncle Festor but he didn't want to be Morticia!"

"Well I thought the frock would have suited you so much better," teased Jackson, "and the wig," he smiled at Aaron, enjoying the quick glimpse of his tongue as he stuck it out in reply.

"Where're you stopping tonight?" asked Robbie, nodding at the empty bottles in front of Aaron and Jackson.

"Night bus," replied Jackson, "there's a late one on a Saturday."

"Crash at ours if you want," said Simon, "it's only a single bed, but you're welcome; and it's only a short walk away."

Aaron and Jackson looked at each other, said nothing yet communicating easily, with their eyes, with a nod

.

"Thanks guys, that'd be great," said Jackson.

"Right, that's settled. C'mon, let's go upstairs,"

Pushing their way through the busy bar, they all made their way back to the staircase, Aaron caught Jackson's eye, unable to stop a smile spreading across his face as they climbed to the top floor, as he remembered.

There were no seats left now, it was standing room only, despite the cheesy Hallowe'en themed music. Standing and dancing room only, standing close between an assortment of characters. Standing close, left alone for a few minutes when the two zombies disappeared onto the dance floor, Aaron let his fingers link into Jackson's as they stood, pushing his hips gently against Jackson's, reminding him.

"C'mon Aaron, Jackson!" the zombies reappeared; renewed enthusiasm for the night bursting from them. "On to the dance floor with you both, no arguments!"

"No, you're fine," smiled Jackson, holding back as one of the zombies, Simon he thought, put his hand to his arm, trying to lead him forward.

"Aaron! C'mon, you'll dance with me then!" he tried again.

"Err... no, I won't!" scowled Aaron, moving further away, glaring at the zombie.

"Oooh Jackson!" exclaimed Simon. "He's so hot when he's angry!" He raised his darkened eyebrows, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"You're right Simon, he is," laughed Jackson, "and he's spoken for," he continued, unable to keep the smile from his face.

"Oh I only wanted to borrow him for a dance or two," said Simon cheerfully, "c'mon then my lovely clone," he said, turning to Robbie, "you won't refuse me a boogie, will ya!" Cheekily he slapped Robbie's arse as they moved away

They watched them disappear into the crowd, Jackson still smiling, Aaron's scowl fading, replaced by confusion, by puzzlement as he turned Simon's teasing words over in his head. Not for a minute, a second, would he ever be tempted away from Jackson, but to suddenly hear another bloke, even teasing and with a few pints behind him, say...say what he had said; he needed to think, to reassess, to change once again, the way he saw himself. Suddenly it needn't be just Jackson, but of course, it was only Jackson.

"Do you mind?" he leant across and shouted in Jackson's ear.

"Mind what?"

"Dancing and stuff. That we don't...that I don't"

"Nah! Well, not really," Jackson moved his mouth close to Aaron's ear. "Although sometimes...ah well, I'm not a great one for dancing either." Jackson moved his mouth even closer, let his lips brush against Aaron's ear, his teeth gently nibbling, feeling Aaron move, shudder against his body as his teeth, his breath, sent tingles rushing through his body. Aaron turned fully towards Jackson, comfortable in the dimly lit space, their movements hidden amongst the flashing lights, their lips meeting, quick, needy kisses, kisses full of hope for the night still to come.

The evening passed; they moved between all three floors of Bar West from the boppy poppy music of the disco to the loud and lively band in the basement, who couldn't resist the chance to play 'Ghostbusters' sandwiched between the Queen covers they were playing.

The evening passed quicker than they could have believed, suddenly, unexpectedly the lights flashed, once, twice, last orders, a rush to the bar, one last drink before the music changed again, before the Hallowe'en songs were done for another year, before the last slow song of the evening.

Suddenly the dance floor was full, couples clinging close together, bodies gently moving together, swaying in time to the plaintive notes, the contemplative words that nobody heard

Without thought, without realising what he was doing, Aaron moved, his hand pulling Jackson behind him, pulling him onto the crowded dance floor, losing themselves in the crush of bodies; gently, almost shyly Aaron put his hands on Jackson's hips, pulled him close, smiled when Jackson draped his arms around his neck, caressing, then momentarily dropping his head into Jackson's shoulder, hiding now that he was here, before lifting his face, letting their lips meet, kiss, while they moved, swaying in time to the slow song, their bodies close, rubbing, touching, Aaron following Jackson's lead, a seductive rhythm growing from the music, a gentle imitation of more intimate movements; a promise, a wish.

With the music over, the lights brighter, people retreating to the bar, leaving; Jackson and Aaron began to hunt for Robbie and Simon, hoping they hadn't forgotten their offer of staying over; the night bus was long gone.

"I can't believe you both refused to dance with me, then were just about eating each other during the last dance!" Simon breezed up behind them, Robbie following him.

"Ignore him!" grinned Robbie, "he's a menace on the dance floor; his camp gene takes over. You had a lucky escape! C'mon!"

Easing their way through the stragglers, they made their way onto the street, turning in the opposite direction from the one Aaron and Jackson would usually have taken. It was cold, but dry at least; walking quickly it was less than fifteen minutes before they reached the flat Robbie and Simon shared.

Robbie went straight into the kitchen to fill the kettle, make coffee; Simon left the lights low, turned the CD player on, after the noise of the evening the gentle back ground music was pleasantly relaxing. Aaron and Jackson flung themselves tiredly onto the large, comfy sofa.

"You guys okay if I go and de-zombiefy myself?" Simon asked, pausing at the door.

"Yeah, go for it," replied Jackson, moving a little as Aaron slumped down a little closer into him.

"You okay?" Jackson asked Aaron after Simon had left the room, his hand rubbing over Aaron's head against the spikiness of his short hair.

"Mmmm, I'm fine," murmured Aaron. "Was a good night, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was," agreed Jackson, resting his head on the back of the sofa, his eyes closed, listening to the music, feeling Aaron's rhythmic breathing against him.

For a few minutes, it was peaceful, Jackson could feel himself almost begin to drift off to sleep; he thought Aaron was sleeping, he could hear Robbie busying himself in the kitchen and it would take Simon some time to remove all the make-up.

"God! Look at the two of you! Youngsters these days! Just can't stand the pace!" Simon burst back into the room, his face scrubbed clean. "Hurry up Robs, these two are just about sleeping; and I mean sleeping!"

"Sorry," groaned Jackson, sitting up, pushing Aaron up, pushing him again until he heard his reluctant waking moan, until he sat up himself.

"Coffee," announced Robbie, coming into the room, putting a tray on the small table in the middle of the room. Returning to the kitchen, he next emerged with a plate piled high with slices of toasted cheese.

"Wow! You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble, Robbie," said Jackson, reaching for a couple of slices

"Ah, you're fine," said Robbie, "himself would have been wanting something to eat anyway," he continued, nodding towards Simon, receiving an answering grin from his boyfriend.

Coffee, desultory late night conversation; more time passed before Aaron and Jackson moved through to the spare room they had been offered, to the single bed they were to share, cuddled close.

Aaron kicked off his trainers and socks, pulled off his jumper, letting his jeans drop in a heap to the floors and was first in the bed, taking the side closest to the wall.

Jackson raised one questioning eyebrow; Aaron had not taken his tee shirt and boxers off before climbing into the bed.

"No! I couldn't," he exclaimed, "not in someone else's bed,"

"I wasn't suggesting anything," grinned Jackson. "Just not like you to wear anything. Have you text Paddy; let him know we'll be in tomorrow morning? This morning. Later."

"No," groaned Aaron. "Chuck my phone over."

Jackson rummaged in the pocket of Aaron's discarded jeans, throwing the phone to him before jumping in beside him, getting comfy against him as he sent the quick, reassuring message.

In the late darkness, in the tiredness after a long day and a good night out, they soon slept, despite the strange bed, cuddled close, holding each other.

At first Jackson didn't know what woke him; it was still dark, he had no idea how long he had been asleep, disorientated for the moment in the unfamiliar room. A noise; that must have been what woke him; a low mewling noise, a noise full of pain and hurt, a cat he would have said, but he knew Robbie and Simon had no cat, no animals. Again, louder now, closer now, words now, mumbled, indecipherable words that couldn't hide the anguish; he turned, put his hand out to Aaron, touched him, felt his body burning, drenched with sweat and knew he was making the noise; in pain, in his sleep.

He reached to switch on the bedside lamp, reluctance slowing his hand; he wasn't surprised, after the letter he wasn't surprised that Aaron's head was filled with memories, but why now, why tonight?

The dim light seemed bright after the darkness; slowly Jackson pulled his eyes from the lamp, turned his body towards Aaron, dread washing over him; he could see now, see the sweat beading on his body, see the tears falling from his clenched, unknowing eyes, see his lips moving with the words that Jackson could make no sense of, yet could understand the hurt behind them.

Should he wake him? He didn't know? It was supposed to be wrong to wake sleepwalkers, but dreams, nightmares…how did you fight those phantoms of the sleeping mind? Carefully, tenderly, he slipped his arm underneath Aaron, hugging him close despite the heat radiating from his body. Gently he began stroking his face, his fingers carefully smoothing the wetness of his tears away from his eyes; quietly he began whispering to him, soothing words, trying to reach through his disturbed sleep, trying to reach into the dark troubled places, wishing he could take the pain away from him, wishing he could speed time forward for him, wishing the trial – with the memories it was forcing to the surface – could be over.

He left the light on, ignored the pins and needles radiating down his arm, thinking only of his lover, cradled into his embrace, aware of every breath, of the slow, slow change as the nightmare left him, as the tears dried up, as the heat left his body. He hadn't meant to sleep, not again that night, but at last, entwined and at peace, both Aaron and Jackson slept.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Aaron was still sleeping when Jackson woke, his face smooth, untroubled, no sign of the nightmare in the dappled morning light that seeped in through the curtains. Jackson looked at his watch, nearly ten; he slipped from the bed, careful not to wake Aaron, pulled on his jeans then headed for the loo before going to the kitchen to make himself a coffee.

Simon was already in the kitchen, spooning instant coffee into two mugs; he reached for another.

"Is Aaron awake?" he asked, his hand poised to lift a fourth mug

"Nah, I don't think sleeping beauty will wake for a while yet," smiled Jackson.

"How's your head this morning then? Hung over?"

"Surprisingly not," smiled Jackson, taking the offered coffee.

"Did you sleep okay?" asked Simon quietly, looking directly at Jackson.

His words, laden with meaning, didn't…couldn't escape Jackson's understanding; but he didn't answer.

"It was Aaron then," it was a statement. "I heard him, Jackson" continued Simon, his voice gentle. "I'm a light sleeper, even after a good few pints; the slightest noise wakes me."

"He had a nightmare," admitted Jackson quietly.

Simon looked at him, waiting for him to say more, all trace of the flirty, teasing zombie of the night before vanished, in its place a man, only a year or two older than Jackson, with his eyes full of concern.

"Do you know why? What caused it?" asked Simon.

Jackson shook his head. "No, not really, yes. We've had letters, the court date, s'pose it's that."

"Ah shit!" breathed Simon. "Can't be easy, even though you knew it was coming. Jeez, he's just a kid, hardly older than the oldest kids I teach." He shook his head to himself, remembering all that Jackson had told him about the attack.

"It just brings it all back," said Jackson quietly, trying to keep the memories from flooding into his head; the pictures he couldn't escape from, not yet, perhaps not ever, however hard he tried to shut them in a darkened box in his mind and leave them behind him.

"Do you think they'll go down for it?" asked Simon.

"The police seem confident; they have witnesses, CCTV; they're supposed to be pleading guilty, if they do, we won't have to appear. But we have to be available.

"When is it, the court date?"

"Second of December."

Simon pulled a face. "A while yet then," he said, sympathetically.

"Yeah," Jackson sighed.

"If there is anything we can do, Robbie and I, just ask, won't you?"

"Thanks Simon. We'll get through it, I know we will; it will just be a difficult few weeks. For all Aaron acts tough, it's all a front, a reaction against his experience of life."

"Don't worry mate! I spend my life with teenage boys! I know exactly what they are like!" Simon laughed.

Jackson returned his smile; it was good to be able to speak about it, speak to someone who wasn't hurting, wasn't family; had a bit of distance.

"What about your mum," Simon continued, "how's she with it all?"

"She's sound, you know what's she's like, full on. She's coming up with us for the trial, so is Paddy. And Aaron's mum and uncle," he added as an afterthought.

Simon raised his eyebrows at Jackson's tone of voice. "You sound less than impressed; what's she like then, his mum?"

"Not very much like a mum; oh she tries, but they've had problems, not helped by her walking out on him when he was a kid, leaving him with his dad; Mr Homophobe himself."

"Ouch! That sucks! Hey, I'd better take Robbie's coffee through, bring yours if you want." Simon felt the third mug, still warm enough; he picked it up and led the way to their bedroom. "C'mon, it's okay, he's quite decent," said Simon as Jackson hesitated at the doorway.

"It was Aaron," announced Simon quietly, handing Robbie his coffee before sliding in beside him. "Nightmare. They've got the court date; second of December."

"Well at least it will be over then, hopefully," said Robbie. "You're fine, sit on the end of the bed there," he said distractedly, shifting, sitting up a bit higher in the bed, moving his feet, giving Jackson room to sit.

"Fingers crossed," replied Jackson, making himself comfy, it felt strange, being in someone else's bedroom, distracting, although distracting was good just now. He'd known Simon for years; at one point he'd thought…but it hadn't happened, they stayed just friends, good friends.

"Hey! It'll be fine, Aaron'll cope with you beside him," said Robbie, trying to make his voice sound confident, positive. "By Christmas it will be over."

"Yeah, that's true," replied Jackson, grateful for their support. "We're staying up afterwards, for a week or so."

"What? All of you?" asked Simon, incredulity spreading across his face.

"No," laughed Jackson, "just the two of us! God, it was bad enough in the summer with my mum there, afterwards; the four of them would drive us daft!"

A noise interrupted their conversation, stirring, the sound of movement from the other bedroom.

"Aaron! In here!" called Simon.

Seconds later Aaron appeared in the door way, still only wearing his boxers and tee shirt, his face, his whole demeanour still sleepy.

"Sit down, I'll get you a coffee," said Simon, beginning to move from the bed.

"Nah, you're fine, I'll get it," said Aaron. "Anyone else needing a top up?"

"Well if you're offering," said Robbie, handing over his mug. "The last one was a bit cold."

Jackson slid off the bed and followed Aaron though to the kitchen, pushing the door closed behind him, moved close to Aaron, took the kettle he had already began filling from him, resting it back down on the worktop.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Mmmm," mumbled Aaron noncommittally. "A bit hung over, bit of a headache, but not too bad. You?"

"I'm fine," Jackson said, pulling him close. "You had a nightmare, do you remember anything?"

Aaron shook his head, "No, nothing, you sure?"

"Well you were muttering, mumbling, crying," said Jackson quietly.

"Sorry."

"You don't need to apologise. I'm glad you don't remember it," Jackson pulled him closer, pulled him in for a kiss, letting his lips meet Aaron's letting their tongues meet, join, dance twisting and turning together.

"I wish we were at home right now," whispered Aaron, smiling, as their lips parted. "You know what the best cure for a headache is, don't you?"

Jackson smiled at him, glad that he didn't remember, glad that he didn't seem, just now at least, too upset by it.

"Yes, I know," Jackson returned his smile, answered the look, the lust, the need burning in his blue eyes; knew his own chocolate brown ones reflected the same desire. "But we can't just now, so let's make the coffee."

They carried two mugs each back into the bedroom, each handing one carefully over. Jackson resumed his previous seat on the bed; Simon, his eyes sparkling with mischief, looked at Aaron, lifted the downie with his foot, raised his eyebrow, inviting Aaron under the covers.

"Simon! Stop teasing Aaron! You'll have him afraid to come back here again and you'll get Jackson mad.

"No, you're fine Simon; I'll...er...I'll just go and put my jeans on," Aaron said, a little uncertainly; although he had met Simon and Robbie several times before, he wasn't as comfortable with their teasing as Jackson. He left quickly, awkward at running away, even more awkward at Simon's invitation, even knowing it was a joke.

"Sorry Aaron," called Simon after him, then again "Sorry Jackson, that was rotten of me."

"S'alright Si, we could get really maudlin just now; a bit of light relief's fine," replied Jackson.

"Did he remember anything?" asked Robbie. "You spoke, just now, when you were making the coffee?"

"He says not, but..." Jackson left the sentence hanging, hearing the sounds of Aaron's return.

"What are you guys doing this afternoon?" asked Simon, as Aaron, dressed now, re-entered the room.

"Nothing in particular," said Jackson, looking towards Aaron for confirmation, "why?"

"I'm playing rugby at two; you could come and keep Robbie here company on the touch line."

Jackson looked over to Aaron, leaving the decision to him; they were his friends, Aaron had only known them a few months; after staying over, after his disturbed night, whether he remembered it or not, perhaps it was too much.

"Yeah, sure, why not," agreed Aaron. "Will we have time to go back to Emmerdale first; change, grab another jacket?"

The decision was made; breakfast, Emmerdale, then freezing their bits off on a rugby touchline; Aaron grinned at Jackson, ignoring the dark clouds gathering in his mind.

...

"Paddy! Paddy!" Aaron yelled as they all trooped through the front door of Smithy, "that's us back, but we're going out again in a minute. Robbie and Simon are here too."

"In the surgery, will be through in a mo," Paddy's voice echoed from the other side of the building.

"Have I got time to grab a quick shower?" asked Jackson to no one in particular, without waiting for an answer, he disappeared upstairs.

"Kettle, coffee, milk in the fridge," Aaron gave Robbie and Simon a quick tour of the kitchen, the essentials. "Biscuits," he said, pulling a tin from a cupboard. "Paddy'll be through in a sec. We'll just be a minute."

Disappearing through the door almost as he uttered his last words, he pulled his jumper off as he ran up the stairs. He could hear the water running, knew the shower would be drenching Jackson, soaking his body. He tried the door, unlocked; he locked it behind him.

Already the small room was filled with steam; losing his clothes the matter of seconds, stepping behind the misted glass screen, an instant.

"I hoped you'd join me," Jackson said, pulling him to him under the hot stream of water, his lips hungrily locking on Aaron's, his tongue demanding entry as his hands slid behind Aaron's head, holding him, keeping him close. Under the dancing water their wet bodies slid against each other, rubbing, feeling their excitement growing; Jackson moved, turning his groin against Aaron's hip, holding it hard against the bone, feeling the pressure against his rigid cock. Moving his hand, he took hold of Aaron's cock, circling it with his fingers, gently at first, teasing; but there was no time, he wanted to cum, he wanted the same for Aaron. He began to move his hand, tighten his grip; immediately he could feel Aaron respond, arch his back into the feeling.

Suddenly he felt his own cock taken, grasped; moving again, their bodies close, their lips nibbling, biting, their tongues dancing, their hands moving in unison as their excitement grew in tandem, grew to an urgent crescendo, tightened, exploded, spilled over, their juices joining the flow covering them, saturating them.

Jackson raised his hand towards his lips, his hand still sticky with Aaron's cum despite the cascading water; very delicately, making sure that Aaron was watching every movement, he gently put the tip of his index finger to his lips, let it slide through his lips before opening his mouth, just a little as he licked the cum off first one finger then another. Taking Aaron's hand in his free one, he held it against Aaron's own flat belly, moving it, just a little, letting it run through the remaining stickiness collected there. Keeping his finger at his lips, keeping Aaron's eyes held by his own, he raised Aaron's hand to his own mouth, led his fingers to his own lips, and watched.

"How's your headache now?" he asked softly.

"What headache?" Aaron asked, his eyes full of lust, flicking over Jackson's naked body.

"That was just a taster, babes, until later," Jackson smiled. "And then I'm gonna enjoy all of you. But for now, we've got a date with a rugby game!"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The bedroom was dark, even the street light outside hardly seemed to give the usual dim midnight blue glow to the room. Lying close to Jackson, yet not touching him, Aaron was quiet, aware of his body in the aftermath of their lovemaking, aware of Jackson's breathing already deepening to sleep. He was glad; he didn't think he was ready for sleep yet, he didn't want to sleep yet although his body was aching from tiredness, from activity. He was scared to close his eyes, to let go, to relinquish control of his waking mind to the demons that had begun to infiltrate his sleep.

When Jackson had told him on Sunday morning, in Robbie and Simon's kitchen, that he had had a nightmare, he had remembered nothing, at least, nothing he could be sure of, no certainty; but Sunday night, Monday night, he knew, he remembered, the vivid pictures filled his mind, he could feel again the hands raking his body, touching him, hitting him, an icy chill spreading through him. At first he was surprised to find no discolouring bruises mottling his body afterwards, that felt...unreal.

Now, for the third night he lay, dread, anticipation, seeping through him, as he distanced himself from Jackson, having slid from his embrace, hoping he wasn't aware of the distance between them, not wanting him to know, not yet, not at all if possible. Yet it was a month exactly, he couldn't stay awake for a month, couldn't fight it for a month.

...

"Heavy night, was it?" Cain jeered, from the car he was working on at the side of the garage. "Lover boy keep you _hard_ at it, did he?"

Aaron didn't even bother to glare at him as he passed by, walking into the garage; he was too tired, tired already of the effort of hiding, of pretending to Jackson that he was fine, that he'd slept well, that Saturday night was a freak, a one-off.

"Well if you're gonna be like that, you can get on with the Vectra," Cain snapped at him.

Ignoring him, Aaron went into the small kitchen area at the back of the garage and switched the kettle on.

"Tea if you're making," shouted Cain.

Saying nothing, Aaron flung a tea bag into a mug, sloshing hot water onto it once the kettle had boiled, leaving it to steep as he made his coffee. Taking his own mug outside to the Vectra parked on the small forecourt area, he unceremoniously dumped Cain's near him, on the bonnet of the car he was working on as he passed.

Cain watched him, thinking; it wasn't like Aaron not to glare, not to answer back. Sometimes, often, Cain wasn't sure what went on in Aaron's head, wasn't sure just what he knew, realised. That there was something wrong, Cain knew; not what exactly, although he could hazard a guess at least that it concerned either the court case or Jackson and he doubted he would be far wrong. He pursed his lips; he would keep an eye on him, just in case.

It went like a fair all day, the garage; normally he would have sent Aaron on all the errands; fetching parts, taking cars to Hotton for MOTs; today he sent Ryan, growling as he questioned his first trip, explaining nothing but an unconscious glance at Aaron told Ryan enough. All day he kept the lad in his sight; and he didn't think he even noticed.

Aaron felt like an automaton, his body moving, functioning, while his eyes were burning with tiredness, his head racing, screaming. Already dreading the night ahead, wondering how tired he would have to be before he could sleep without dreaming. The day dragged; Jackson and the night seemed all too close, approaching too quickly; perhaps if he could sleep now, in the daylight, he wouldn't dream. But that was impossible too.

Late afternoon; he was leaning under the dashboard, tracing a fault in the wiring when Cain caught him, trapped him, standing in the open door of the car; there was no escape, no chance to run, to hide.

Cain leaned into the door, leaning his arms on the roof of the car, invading Aaron's space, looking down on him

The wary blue eyes looked up into the dark menacing ones of his uncle.

"You and me are going to have a little chat lad," said Cain quietly.

"Err...no, we're not."

Cain said nothing, just waited, looking at Aaron, looking at the dark shadows of tiredness under his eyes, looking at the bloodshot blue eyes. Waiting.

Cain held his eyes; he knew Aaron would look away first, he always did.

"We can do this two ways," began Cain, his voice dangerously quiet. "Nice and friendly like, uncle and nephew. Or," he paused, "I will take you by the scruff of your neck and hold you against that door until you tell me what's wrong. Do I make myself clear?"

Looking down, braking eye contact, Aaron nodded, but still said nothing.

"Is it Jackson? Has he done something?" questioned Cain.

"No, no it's not Jackson," said Aaron quietly.

"The court then?" said Cain, crouching, bringing him to Aaron's level.

For a moment he thought Aaron wasn't going to answer him; but then he nodded, a tiny movement, the slightest acknowledgment.

"Yes, sort of," the words were hardly more than a whisper escaping from his lips.

"Go on, lad."

"It's nothing, it's silly!" Aaron sighed, looked up to the sky, looked anywhere but at his uncle, who suddenly seemed to have become more perceptive, more insightful than Aaron ever imagined he could be.

"Tell me. How can I help if you say nothing?"

"There's nothing you can do," said Aaron, finally looking his uncle in the eye, suddenly feeling his own eyes begin to sting with unshed tears gathering, waiting to flood, to overflow. Hastily, he blinked, forcing them back, hoping Cain hadn't noticed his weakness, his distress.

"I've started having nightmares. Flashbacks. They'll stop next month."

"That's a long time to wait. Does Jackson know?"

"No!" Aaron exclaimed. "And I don't want him to! Don't tell him! Please Cain," he spoke urgently, anxiously.

"Okay, I won't tell him about the nightmares," agreed Cain. "But you should."

Aaron shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

"Right!" said Cain, suddenly brisk, abrupt almost. "A pint! You coming?" He stood up, stretching.

"Nah, I'll just head."

"You get off then, I'll lock up." Cain watched him go, watched the despondency in his step as he walked up the road towards Smithy.

A few minutes later Cain walked into the Woolpack, relishing the thought of that much needed pint. Until he walked into the bar, until suddenly a decision had to be made, until suddenly the first person he saw was Jackson.

Cain ordered his pint, lent against the bar, not looking behind him, not watching; he had already seen that Jackson was sitting with Paddy and Hazel. All he needed to do was wait.

He didn't even have to wait too long; Jackson passed him, a nod of greeting; Cain looked back at the table, to where he had been sitting, to where his pint glass, still half full, awaited his return.

Waiting no longer, Cain took a last, long draft of his lager, finishing the pint then followed Jackson through the swing doors out of the bar. Guessing, hoping, he went into the gents; he was there.

"Jackson!" Cain said his name sharply, demanding his attention. "I need a word."

Jackson looked at Cain, hastily zipping his trousers, a cold sweat of apprehension prickling across his shoulders; Cain looked serious and he didn't want to be on his wrong side. He waited; wondering.

"You need to speak to Aaron," Cain announced abruptly, never one for small talk.

"What d'you mean?" Whatever Jackson had expected, it wasn't this.

"Just do it, will you? Speak to him!"

"Yeah, but what about?" Jackson was genuinely puzzled; at Cain, at what he wanted him to speak to Aaron about.

"Look!" said Cain, exasperation beginning to lend annoyance to his voice. "There is something wrong; I can't tell you what because I promised I wouldn't. But when he's told you, it needs sorted. Somehow." Cain glared at Jackson. "And when you've spoken to him, if I can help, come back to me."

"Alright, I'll speak to him tonight," muttered Jackson.

"No! Now!" growled Cain. "He went home about fifteen minutes ago."

"Cain! What is it? You're beginning to scare me now!" Jackson felt the stirrings of panic beginning to spread from deep inside pit of his stomach, insidiously flooding through his body.

"Just go and help him, Jackson," suddenly Cain sounded weary.

Saying nothing more, Jackson left the loos; following him, Cain watched him leave the Woolie, turn towards Smithy, hurry up the road in the darkening evening twilight. Turning back into the bar, he swaggered over to the table where Hazel and Paddy were sitting.

"Jackson's away home; give 'em a bit of space before you go back, eh?" He winked suggestively, picked up the remains of Jackson's pint, took a mouthful then retreated to the bar, leaving Paddy and Hazel staring wordlessly after him.

...

Aaron was lying on the sofa, his eyes closed, when Jackson let himself quietly in through the front door. In the minute it had taken Jackson to walk from the Woolie, his head spinning, he had changed his mind ten, fifteen, even more times; how he should play this. Confront him; demand to know what was wrong; plead with him.

The room was almost dark; Aaron had not bothered to put the light on, but Jackson knew he was there, sensed his presence, would have sworn he heard his breathing quiet in the darkness. Jackson moved quietly to the sofa, lifted Aaron's legs and slid underneath them, letting them rest on his lap. He said nothing, letting his fingers slide across the smooth material of Aaron's trackkies, caressing his legs.

The silence stretched on, the light faded even further; at first Jackson wondered if he might actually be sleeping...but no, he wasn't; listening, really listening, Jackson realised he was awake. It was impossible to count the minutes, to know how long they sat in the increasing darkness, but he could wait, he would wait until Aaron was ready.

He heard his intake of breath the spit second before he spoke; all his fear, his apprehension caught in that breath, in the moment before he shared them, before they were no longer his alone. Unconsciously, unaware of his own inaction, Jackson held his breath, waiting.

"I've been having nightmares, Jackson," the quiet, defeated voice broke the silence at last. "Dreams, flashbacks; since Sunday."

For a moment, Jackson said nothing, did nothing; then he moved, sliding Aaron's legs from him, he pulled him into an embrace, hugging him tightly, trying to say without words all that he wanted to say. Gently he stroked his fingers across Aaron's head, down his neck, his back.

"Thank you for telling me," Jackson whispered.

"Cain said I should," replied Aaron.

"I'm glad you listened to him, for once," said Jackson, smiling gently in the darkness, glad they had both listened to Cain. "We'll get through this, Aaron. I don't really know how yet, or what we can do about the nightmares, but there is something you can do for me."

"What? Anything."

"Don't sleep on the far side of the bed; let me be there with you, be awake with you, let me hold you."

"I'd really like that," he paused.

Jackson could hear the slight smile beginning in his voice.

"I thought I could cope," Aaron continued, "I didn't want to disturb you."

"Disturb me," said Jackson, "whenever." He lowered his head, found Aaron's lips with his own and kissed him.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"You coming to the bonfire tonight?" asked Adam. He was sitting on the quad bike, its engine idling outside the garage, speaking to Aaron.

"Dunno mate," replied Aaron. "Might go for a while, but we're supposed to be going to the big one in Hotton; Bar West is running one of the food stalls and bars, we're meeting folk."

"Is that okay?" questioned Adam.

"Yeah, they're sound; I'm just shattered." Aaron didn't elaborate. The last two nights had been better, but only because he had shared them with Jackson, let him hold him afterwards, as he'd woken struggling through the tortured, fragmented images, memories he would rather hide from.

"Oh. Right," said Adam; he felt a little disgruntled, as time went on he felt as though he saw less and less of Aaron; their worlds drifting further apart.

"Come if you want," added Aaron casually. "Won't be a late one, Jackson's working tomorrow so he's driving."

"Cool, thanks mate, I'll text you," revving loudly, unnecessarily, Adam turned the quad bike and roared away.

Aaron watched him go; he was supposed to be his best mate, he was his best mate, but he hadn't told him, didn't want to tell him. He sighed and turned back to the car engine he had in bits at his side.

…

Aaron left the garage as the light began to fade; Cain, surprisingly amenable, didn't seem to mind him finishing early, with Jackson working the next day, he would probably put in a couple of hours then; it would work out fine.

He walked up the road towards Smithy, texting Jackson, telling him he had finished work, wondering how long it would be before he would be home.

Paddy was sitting at the table when Aaron walked into the cottage, shrugging his arms out of his oily overalls as he walked into the kitchen.

"You're sharp" he said, looking up from the newspaper he was reading.

"Going out…it's bonfire night…y'know, big fire, down by the cricket pitch," Aaron replied, a little sarcastically, kicking off his trainers as he was speaking, wriggling, shaking his overalls off his legs.

"Yeah, I know its bonfire night," replied Paddy. "Coffee if you're making," he added as Aaron passed the kettle.

"You're as bad as Cain," moaned Aaron, good-naturedly, "all I seem to do is make coffee and tea," he switched the kettle on then lifted two mugs, spooning coffee into each.

"Must be because you're so good at it," teased Paddy, smiling even more as Aaron pulled a face at him, unceremoniously dumping his coffee on the table in front of him.

Aaron lifted his own mug, about to head upstairs to the bathroom.

"Oi!" called Paddy abruptly. "Don't just leave those there," he nodded to the discarded overalls and trainers. "Put them in the basket in the utility room with your others."

Aaron dumped his mug back down on the worktop, scooping up the overalls, kicking the trainers in front of him; leaving the kitchen briefly to dispose of them as instructed.

"Happy now?" he growled at Paddy as he returned, retrieving his coffee.

"Yes thank you," Paddy grinned at his retreating back.

….

Jackson looked at his phone, read the text from Aaron, knew he was home, knew he had a few minutes. He started the van, it wouldn't take him long to get from Robblesfield to Emmerdale, to make a quick stop on his way home.

He pulled the van close up to the garage doors, he didn't think Aaron would have been able to make it out clearly from Smithy in the dusky evening light, had he left it on the street, but he wasn't taking any chances. The doors were still open, light flooded out, someone was there, working.

"Hello," he called, "anyone in?"

"At the back," a voice, Cain's voice called. "You've missed Aaron, he's away to get ready; you're off out tonight apparently," he continued as he recognised Jackson.

"It's ok, it's you I wanted to see," said Jackson, leaning against a workbench.

Cain raised his eyebrows but said nothing, waiting.

"Monday. Aaron might not be in," said Jackson.

"Oh," there was a question in Cain's voice.

"He told me, the other night, about the nightmares. Thanks, for making me speak to him. I haven't told him yet, but we're going away on Sunday, to see someone, someone who might be able to help."

"A therapist!" Cain's tone was incredulous, scornful. "He'll never agree to that!"

Jackson smiled. "No, not a therapist. Someone we met in the summer. A minister, at Hexham Abbey."

"A minister! The God Squad! You're daft!" laughed Cain.

"Maybe," conceded Jackson. "But he's a decent bloke and they got on well. I spoke to him on the phone today; he's expecting us Sunday afternoon. But depending on what happens, Aaron might not be in Monday, or at least not first thing. Is that ok with you, Cain?"

Cain looked at him steadily, assessing him. "If you think it might help, it's fine by me. I'll sort you out a car, save slogging up the road in that old heap," he nodded in the direction of Jackson's van.

"Thanks," said Jackson, turning to go.

"How are they, the nightmares?" Cain questioned suddenly.

"Hellish for him," replied Jackson, turning back, his face sad, pensive. "But at least he's not trying to hide them from me now."

"Chas doesn't know, I've not said anything to her," continued Cain, not needing to say anything more.

Jackson nodded, understanding as he made his way back to his van.

...

"You cannot go out in _that!_" exclaimed Aaron, staring at Jackson in disbelief, watching him pull the hat firmly down on his head.

"Why not?" grinned Jackson, turning to admire himself in the mirror.

"Because it's just so...so _gay!_" Aaron curled his lip as he uttered the word.

"It's Nordic," said Jackson, turning back towards Aaron, dropping his head a little, pouting at him, letting his chocolate brown eyes open wide. "Okay," he said, pulling the colourful bobble hat with the elongated earflaps from his head. "Is there another one then?"

Aaron turned, rummaged on the top shelf of the wardrobe, eventually pulling out a plain grey hat, similar to the blue one he was wearing. He handed it to Jackson.

"Happy now?" Jackson pulled on the second hat.

"Yeah! Dead butch that!" laughed Aaron, leaning towards Jackson, stealing a quick kiss on his lips. "C'mon, I said we'd meet Adam at 6.30."

"I'll take the van down, then we can head straight off to Hotton," said Jackson, following Aaron out of the bedroom.

Walking out of the door, they yelled goodbye to Paddy and Hazel. Aaron was glad to be going out, doing something for the evening instead of pretending to watch the television, pretending to do something, anything but watching the clock, dreading the hours ticking by, bringing the night closer. Bringing the nightmares closer.

There were already plenty of folk milling about the field by the old cricket pavilion as Jackson and Aaron wandered across the grass. With the bonfire not yet lit, it was still quite dark away from the roadside edge of the field, closest to the village.

"Hey guys!" Adam bounded towards them, his arm draped around Scarlett's shoulders. "What time are we heading through? You don't mind Scarlett coming too do you?"

"Course not," grinned Jackson, before Aaron could utter a dissenting word. "The more the merrier. So long as you don't mind slumming it in the van."

"What time are they lighting the bonfire?" asked Aaron, his voice surly. Adam was one thing; he didn't mind him joining in their night out, but Scarlett! She was just so…so girly; he felt a bit like a freak show on display when she was around; it was hard enough, sometimes, to relax when he was out; really, he just couldn't be bothered with her gawping and giggling.

"Any minute now, mate," laughed Adam, his spirits high. "Dad and Andy are sorting it."

Suddenly a roaring noise filled the air, the light got brighter, oohs and aahs echoed round the field as the fire was lit and blazed into life. Moving, a sway of swirling bodies drifted as one nearer to the fire, its warm and light drawing them in, closer.

"What on earth has your dad got on there to make it go up like that?" Aaron questioned Adam.

"Probably best not to ask!" grinned Adam in reply, "but I do know he was down at the garage, seeing Cain, just before we began to pile the stuff up"

They stood and watched, not in the front row of spectators, lit by the blaze, but half hidden by the close press of people; shielded in the distraction, Jackson let his body lean sideways, lean close against Aaron, touch him, shoulder against shoulder, hip against hip, enjoying the sensation of the answering pressure. Braver now, he let his fingers brush against Aaron's hand, let their fingers entwine, just for a moment, just long enough to feel a squeeze against his own fingers before letting go.

They stayed long enough to watch the fire blaze and die back to a brilliant, glowing pile of embers, throwing out its heat into the cold night before heading into Hotton.

The roads around the park on the outskirts of Hotton were full of parked cars; eventually Jackson left the car outside Robbie's flat. The flat itself was in darkness; that was fine; they had arranged to meet at the Bar West stall.

It was a few minutes walk back through the town, towards the large park where the bonfire and firework display were being held; as they got closer, the numbers walking with them grew, the noise grew, music blaring, clashing, filling the night air from the various bars and restaurants providing the food and drink for the evening.

The bonfire was already blazing, roped off from the milling crowds, when they arrived. Jackson looked about him, wondering how they would find anyone amongst this crowd. The bars and restaurant stalls were on the edge of the area set aside for the evening's entertainment. Wandering from one to another they eventually arrived at the temporary outdoor Bar West; it's pink banners proudly declaring its name. Aaron thought he recognised some of the faces hanging about, but saw no sign of Robbie and Simon.

The fireworks began; ten minutes of exploding stars, showering lights stretching across the dark sky. The noise of expectation, enjoyment from the crowd competed with the music from the bars; all eyes turned heavenward.

As the last colourful stars were dying away, Jackson felt hands on his shoulders, felt breath on his ear a second before Simon spoke.

"Hey guy's! Thought you'd stood us up!" He reached out, slapping Aaron on the shoulders as he spoke.

Turning, Robbie and Simon were behind them.

"Cool hats guys!" commented Jackson, smiling at the sight the greeted him.

"Yeah, very Nordic!" Aaron smiled, catching Jackson's eye, he couldn't help but smirk, stifling a full blown laugh, until Jackson, unable to restrain himself, laughed, turned it into a cough, a splutter!

"You remember Adam," said Jackson, regaining his composure, indicating Adam. "And Scarlett, his girlfriend," he pointed her out, as she nodded a greeting.

Without discussion, they began to ease their way over towards the makeshift bar, queuing for drinks. Standing, seeing Aaron standing beside Adam, talking to Robbie for a moment, Simon eased himself next to Jackson.

"How's your week been?" he asked.

"Busy. Folk always want jobs finished yesterday," replied Jackson.

"No, that's not what I meant," said Simon. "Aaron, how's he been?" he explained.

Glancing towards his boyfriend, seeing him engrossed in conversation, noticing the smiles flashing briefly across his face, Jackson relaxed, let his hand rest on Simon's arm, moving him a little further out of Aaron's earshot. Hurriedly he told him of the nightmares, how things had changed since the previous weekend.

"He looks okay just now," commented Simon.

Jackson shook his head. "For now, this second; he's occupied; it's good being out, something else to think about. But tonight...well, I would be really surprised if he didn't have one; it's been every night since Saturday at yours."

Simon shook his head. "That's grim. And you're sure it's the court case?"

"Court, thinking about the attack again," said Jackson quietly. "I don't think there is anything else bothering him."

"Like we said, if there is anything we can do..." Simon let he sentence hang unfinished in the air, unsure what they could do.

"Thanks," replied Jackson, his eyes watching Aaron, his heart worrying about Aaron. Nodding to Simon, they moved by unspoken mutual agreement back towards the rest of the group.

Jackson slipped his arm through Aaron's, uncaring; they were together, among friends, and really, who cared. Suddenly, quickly, he pulled Aaron closer to him and kissed him, lingeringly, under the stars.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

It was still dark; Jackson turned his head to look at the LED clock; early enough, and it was Sunday, even though they were going away later, there was still plenty of time; they didn't need to move yet.

He looked at Aaron, peaceful now, lying sleeping on his stomach, but a few hours earlier he had been drenched in sweat, his body twisting, turning as he cried out in his sleep, in his nightmare. Jackson had spoken to him, murmuring quiet, comforting words, unsure if they were reaching him, making any difference, not until he stirred a little, awake enough to be aware of the comfort beside him, did Jackson know he had returned to him.

Looking at him now, Jackson bit his lip; he hadn't told Aaron that they were going out for the day, that they were going north, back to Hexham. He thought he would be fine with it, accepting; he hoped he would be; he wasn't sure.

It was still dark, but it was late enough; Jackson reached out his hand, touched Aaron's back, let his fingers move down the ridges of his spine, circling each little bone from his neck to his crack; for a moment his fingers strayed, then he flattened his hand over Aaron's buttocks, gently cupping, tenderly caressing.

With his touch, his caress, Aaron soon stirred, just a little. Jackson moved; lay against the length of his body, facing him, letting his hand slide around his hip, dropping his head, nuzzling into his neck, kissing him, very lightly.

A kiss, another, Jackson felt Aaron move beneath him; using his teeth, he nipped a tiny pinch of skin; beneath him, Aaron groaned, responded, turned, searched for Jackson's lips with his own.

Without even opening his eyes, Aaron turned into Jackson's arms, deepened his kiss, let his legs move to entwine Jackson, pull him closer, feel him, rub his body against him, wakening just a little further.

Gently they moved against each other, with each other; moving lazily, there was nothing to hurry for, there was time to feel, to explore, to arouse, slowly, surely, to waken, to feel the urgency, fully building moment upon moment, taking each other, further and further until stopping was impossible and so, so undesirable as body merged with body, mind with mind, mirrored caresses working together, mirrored tongues; then lips tasting, swallowing, deeper and deeper. Together they moved closer to crescendo; deep, shuddering spasms coursing through their bodies in unison, taking them, taking each other to the edge of ecstasy, beyond ecstasy, to explosive fulfilment in each other's arms, deep in each other's bodies.

In the glow, in the aftermath, they slept again, their bodies close, entangled in the tumbled sheets.

It was full daylight; Jackson turned his head to look at the LED clock; it really was time to move now. He really needed to tell Aaron now.

Stretching, disentangling himself; should he get coffee first, get a mug for Aaron, would it help, make it easier, was it just delaying...whatever.

"Aaron," he whispered. Looking, he knew he wasn't soundly sleeping, more dozing. "Aaron, we need to get up; there's somewhere we need to be."

"Nah, it's Sunday," murmured Aaron lazily, not moving.

"No...really. Aaron, I need to tell you something," Jackson paused, feeling awkward now, unsure; perhaps this was a mistake after all. Perhaps he should say nothing more.

"What?" Aaron opened his eyes, more awake now, waiting

Jackson looked at him, indecision flooding through him; it had seemed such a good idea on Friday, when he thought of it, when he searched the internet, easily finding contact details for the Reverend Finn Nicholson, when he made the phone call, when he heard the remembered voice, heard the care and concern, the willingness to do anything, anything he could.

Biting his lip; tell him or say nothing, cancel; Jackson took a deep breath.

"We're going to Hexham. To see Finn; he's expecting us this afternoon," Jackson paused, waiting for a reaction, acceptance, anger, anything. "I thought it might help you to speak to him. About the nightmares." Jackson watched Aaron, watched his face, watched him think about what he had been told, watched for his reaction.

"Thank you," whispered Aaron at last; he blinked, feeling tears pricking his eyes, he tried to stop them from falling. "But I don't think he will be able to stop them."

"Probably not," agreed Jackson. "But that doesn't mean that it won't be helpful talking to him; you felt better after speaking to him before didn't you?"

"Yeah," conceded Aaron. "But it's a long way to go."

"It's about eighty miles, a couple of hours, tops. Cain's lending us a car, save taking the van."

"Cain knows?" Aaron's voice filled with disbelief, he turned further towards Jackson, raising himself up on his elbow, his face full of unspoken questions.

"I told him you might not be in tomorrow, either early or at all. If it gets late we could get a B & B. He was okay."

Aaron shook his head in disbelief, not sure who he was more surprised at, Cain or Jackson.

"He was a sound bloke, wasn't he? Finn." questioned Aaron, questioning his own memory of their brief meeting, of the significance of their short conversation.

"Yeah," Jackson agreed quietly, "he's a good bloke and was fine when I spoke to him on the phone."

"On the phone," echoed Aaron, somehow, in the muddle his mind was in, it hadn't registered that Jackson would already have spoken to him.

"Yeah, had to use the phone, psychic vibes weren't working." Jackson smiled at him. "Look, we don't have to go, if you'd rather not. Just say."

"No," said Aaron, quietly. "No, it's fine. Thanks Jackson." Leaning forward, he slid his arms around Jackson's body, pulling him to him, pulling him on top of him, searching for his lips.

"Aaron! There's no time...we need...to move...go." His words were punctuated by Aaron's kisses, hungry, demanding kisses. Kisses that demanded a response, kisses that received one.

...

They were later leaving than Jackson intended; he had showered quickly, needing it, leaving Aaron to jump in while he went down find Cain, collect whatever car he was letting them borrow.

There was no one at the garage; he tried there first but wasn't surprised to find the place quiet, the doors locked; it was Sunday morning after all. It was only a few steps back to Tug Ghyll, Cain answered his quiet knock.

Reaching to a key rack beside the door, he lifted a set and pocketed them, joining Jackson outside the cottage.

"He's up for it then?" he said, as they walked back towards the garage.

"Yeah," said Jackson. "Though I only told him an hour ago, so he's not really had time to get grumpy about it."

Cain laughed, threw the keys at Jackson and nodded at a Megane in front of them. "She's a bit old, but sound. Aaron can drive on the garage insurance, there's a cover note for you in the glove box. Tank's full."

"Thanks," said Jackson, pressing the fob to unlock the doors.

"Take care," said Cain, holding Jackson's gaze. "And I'm not just meaning the car. Yourselves. Text me; let me know if you'll be back tonight or tomorrow"

Jackson nodded. "Will do."

Cain watched as he drove up to Smithy; hoping he was right.

...

Aaron closed his eyes as Jackson drove the car out of the village; his mind was in a whirl; he thought he was alright with what Jackson had planned, it was so sudden, so unexpected, he had hardly had any time to think, to catch his breath even. Two hours Jackson reckoned, two hours until they got there, two hours to change his mind, two hours to run, to hide. But he knew, if nothing else was certain, he wouldn't run.

For once, he was happy enough letting Jackson drive, letting his own thoughts wander, watching the countryside speed by as the car ate up the miles. He could feel the tension rising within himself, butterflies; his stomach churning, turmoil twisting inside him as he watched the roadside signs counting down the miles. They travelled quickly at first, the main road almost a motorway; it was the road they travelled north on in the summer; that seemed so long ago Aaron reflected, so much had happened to him, to them.

Just over an hour later, they turned onto a road crossing the country; they couldn't drive so quickly, but in the late autumn sunlight, with the last of the seasonal colours, vibrant russet, golden brown on the trees, the journey passed, relentlessly; he didn't utter the words that would stop it.

Counting the miles in single figures, nausea flooded through him; urging Jackson to stop, Aaron leapt from the car, leaning into the bushes, retching and retching, puking nothing but foul, bitter bile, burning his throat, his mouth, tears stinging his eyes.

After seconds, it could only be seconds; Jackson was beside him, his arm around his shoulder supporting him, a bottle of water held out to him. Gratefully he took it, gulping desperately, rinsing and spitting, trying to rid himself of the bitter burning fluid that had briefly overwhelmed his mouth.

Suddenly exhausted, he backed towards the car, slumped back into the seat, rested his head back, eyes closed. He sat for a moment, glad that Jackson was wise enough to say nothing, giving him peace, glad that he was close beside him, caring.

Eventually, after a minute or two, after five minutes or ten, he wasn't sure, but eventually he felt ready, ready to continue the last few miles.

With every mile Jackson was becoming less and less convinced of the wisdom of the visit. It had seemed such a good idea forty-eight hours earlier, although what he expected from the visit he could not quite have said. Now it seemed silly, foolish, serving no purpose but to give Aaron more distress.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, as Aaron indicated he was ready to continue their journey. "We can turn round if this was a bad idea."

"No, it's fine, just nerves, the travelling. Let's go."

The last few miles, the road familiar, Aaron felt his heart hammering in his chest as they passed the large sign, welcoming them to the town. Only seconds then, and the large warm red building came into view; Hexham Abbey. Following the instructions he had been given, Jackson easily found the drive that led to the vicarage.

Stopping just inside the gates, still a distance from the large house, Jackson turned to Aaron, a question in his eyes, on his lips, seeking a last confirmation that Aaron wanted to continue.

Biting his bottom lip, taking a deep, steadying breath, Aaron nodded.

The last few yards, an eternity from road to house; as the engine died silence filled the car. Jackson reached across, reached for Aaron's hand, caught it in his own, held it tightly.

At the house, the front door opened.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Wow! This is some house!" breathed Jackson a few minutes later, following Finn through the hall towards the rear of the building.

The front door had opened almost before the noise of the car engine had died; it could only be that he had been watching for them. Striding quickly towards the car, the remembered figure of the Reverend Finn Nicholson; large, chunky, his mop of blond hair curling wildly, like a halo about his head, his hand outstretched in greeting, shaking each of their hands.

Aaron took the proffered hand but said nothing beyond a muted, muttered hello, awkwardness stilling his tongue, his eyes to the floor. His eyes; briefly he looked up; up into the luminous pools he remembered watching him, pools to drown in, pools that would accept his confession. He looked away, not yet ready to be sucked in, to talk.

Speaking as they walked through the building, Finn chatted easily. "Well about three rooms of it are ours; the rest are really an extension of the church; space to hold meetings, guest rooms. Come through and meet Greg,"

He led the way into a large, bright kitchen, a room that obviously did duty not only as a kitchen, but as a lived in room too. There was a large table in the middle of the room, cluttered with magazines and newspapers, a laptop stood open, screensaver playing. A small sofa was against the wall furthest from the kitchen area, a large ginger cat comfortable on one cushion.

Standing by the cooker, a dark haired man stirred a large pot on the stove.

"Greg; this is Jackson and Aaron."

"Great to meet you guys," leaving the stove, he crossed to shake their hands. "We weren't sure exactly when you would arrive, or whether you would want to eat straight away; it's only soups and sandwiches so whenever you like."

"Now would be good for me," ventured Jackson, knowing that Aaron wasn't ready to give an opinion, let alone talk to Finn. "We were a bit later leaving than we meant," he glanced at Aaron, the suggestion of a smile touching his lips; "and we didn't stop on the way," he continued.

Even as he spoke, Greg turned back to the stove. "Give me fifteen minutes then," he said, "you could make coffee Finn, take it through, give me peace," he grinned.

"Sure thing," replied Finn, "this way." He led the way through a door leading to a cosy den-like room, a small television tucked away in a corner, books lining one wall, the rest looking as lived in as the kitchen. "Give me a minute to get the coffee, how do you take it?"

He left them, but they could hear him next door in the kitchen, talking, filling the kettle. Aaron sat on one of the sagging arm chairs; Jackson moved to the shelves, looking at the books lining them, looking out of the window, not looking at Aaron, not daring yet to look at Aaron, all the time trying not to wonder, to worry.

Aaron picked at his fingernails, nervously scraping the remains of oil from their edges, rubbing it into the palms of his hands as he wondered why he had ever agreed to coming here. Ever since Jackson had told him – it seemed like an eternity ago – not just a few hours, he had known he would want to run, had known that was the worst thing he could do, for himself, for Jackson. But keeping calm, keeping a lid on the boiling pot of his emotions, that was hard.

Jackson moved towards Aaron; perched on the arm of his chair, put his arm around his shoulder, pulled him towards him, hugged him.

Moving into Jackson's embrace, Aaron dropped his head onto his shoulder, glad of the contact, the closeness. Breathing deeply, trying to calm his raging nerves, he could smell the shower gel Jackson had used, the matching body splash; it was him, familiar, comforting.

Jackson dropped a light kiss onto Aaron's hair, rubbed his lips briefly across its spikiness.

"You okay?" he whispered, not wanting to be heard by Finn or Greg. Underneath him, he felt Aaron nod before he spoke.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Brickin' it, but fine."

He could hear the irony in Aaron's tone; hear the slight, disbelieving smile touching the very edge of his voice.

Jackson eased his position but didn't take his arm from Aaron's shoulder, didn't move from his perch on the arm chair as Finn came back into the room, carrying a laden tray, placing it carefully on a cluttered table then handing brimming full mugs to each of them, indicating the plate of biscuits, telling them to help themselves.

Aaron listened to the conversation around him; Finn and Jackson, talking about everything, talking about nothing, the weather, their journey, Finn's church, yesterday's football results. Slowly, gradually Aaron began to realise that Finn wasn't going to mention the reason they were there; not yet, maybe not until they did. Slowly, gradually the churning in his stomach began to subside; he began to relax, to add a little to the conversation. Still next to him, Jackson began to move his fingers against his shoulders, gently rubbing; tiny movements of comfort, of reassurance, catching his eyes, Jackson smiled down at Aaron, receiving his answering smile in return.

It was less than fifteen minutes when Greg called them through for their meal; the kitchen table had been cleared, the clutter perched precariously next to the ginger moggy who seemed unperturbed by the mountain that had appeared beside him. Now the table was laid for the four of them, two plates in the centre piled high with sandwiches, a bowl of crisps, another of tomatoes, jars of pickles. As they sat Greg set large bowls of steaming soup in front of each of them.

"You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble," said Jackson, sitting down, anxious to tuck in, unsure whether Finn would start praying or anything – he wasn't used to eating with vicars.

"Please, just start," said Finn, unconsciously solving Jackson's predicament. "And this is nothing; you should see him when he and Delia really push the boat out!

Greg grinned at Finn, his eyes sparkling with obvious love and laughter. "He's exaggerating! But I do like cooking and Delia is like! a goddess!"

"I prefer Nigella myself," Finn teased him.

"It's an old argument," laughed Greg. What about you guys, do you cook much?"

"Aaron does a mean line in burnt fish fingers," Jackson replied quickly, before Aaron thought to slag off his cooking.

The meal passed easily, amiably, conversation waxed and waned between them all, touching on nothing difficult, upsetting. It could have been a meal between friends; it felt like a meal between friends until the end, until it was over, until Finn spoke.

"Jackson, can I borrow Aaron a minute; there's something I'd like him to see," looking at Jackson, seeing his slightly confused nod of consent, Finn continued, "we'll get our coffee when we come back in. C'mon Aaron."

Suddenly the comfortable feeling that had been creeping over Aaron vanished, all his apprehension returned, the food in his stomach churning; he twisted his fingers together, just to make sure they weren't shaking. Suddenly his whole body felt like lead, lead possessed by a force that was pulling him backwards, trying to drag him away, to safety, to escape.

"It's okay, Aaron, you'll love this," said Finn, trying to reassure him, seeing the anxiety written so clearly across his face, his body.

Grabbing something as they left the house, Finn lead the way around the back of the building, headed towards a large shed, a garage; a padlock securing chains on the double doors, it was the keys he had taken with him, keys that he was now using to undo the padlock. He drew open both doors, then reached in, turned on the lights, flooding the garage with a harsh, bright light.

"Oh! Wow! She's beautiful!" Aaron stood and stared; whatever he had expected, it wasn't this. "A Triumph!" He walked up to the low, shining sports car, let his fingers glide along her wing, tenderly caressing the paintwork.

"A TR3A, from 1960. She still needs a bit of work, but there's a bit of a noise; any chance you could have a quick look.

"Sure," breathed Aaron, his eyes glowing with pleasure. "I don't have much in the way of tools with me though."

"There are a few in the garage; here," he delved into his pocket, threw more keys at Aaron. "Drive her out; follow the drive round the house till you get back here."

"Are you serious!" exclaimed Aaron, his eyes shining with delight.

"Go for it!" laughed Finn. "No speeding though!" He watched Aaron climb carefully in, still so obviously in awe of the car. He was happy for Aaron to drive it that short distance, just round the house. And he couldn't let him look at it in the garage, not when he needed the engine running, not when he remembered their last conversation, his confessions, back in the summer. Besides, he had enjoyed seeing the fear and anxiety disappear when he set eyes on the car. The car was the distraction; now the conversation could begin.

Minutes later, Finn sat in the driving seat, responding to Aaron's instructions, watching him, watching his absorption in his task.

"Jackson." Finn said the single word, just his name to catch Aaron's attention. "He told me, just a little, when he telephoned on Friday," he continued when the blue eyes looked up, looked into his.

"Are you able to tell me anymore?"

Finn waited, he knew the value of patience, without looking at Aaron, he could almost see the thoughts racing through his mind; the debate he was having with himself.

"Nightmares" he whispered. "I've been having nightmares."

...

Once he started speaking, it was easy; the words flowed, he described the nightmares, the way they made him feel, the memories they resurrected. He retreated in time, telling Finn about the attack, about keeping his temper in check until they hurt Jackson, until he saw someone he cared so much about being hurt.

Finn stayed silent, letting Aaron speak uninterrupted, letting him explore the attack, what happened after, knowing that for him to be speaking at all, he felt safe, knowing that really he was speaking to himself, providing his own answers. It all came back to Jackson, as it had before; it was Jackson he had controlled his temper for, it was Jackson he was defending, it was Jackson who he let comfort him through the nightmares, it was Jackson who worried about him.

Finally the words dried up; Aaron looked up, looked into Finn's eyes, waiting for answers, waiting for the nightmares to be banished.

"I can't stop them, Aaron," said Finn quietly, directly, not wanting to hold out false hopes, yet as he continued speaking, his words were those of encouragement, trying to help Aaron see beyond the nightmares, beyond their power to hurt and distress, to draw the bitter sting from them. "But I believe they will stop; I believe they are an expression of your anxiety regarding the court case and once that is over, successfully over, they will leave you. Meanwhile, the best thing you can do is keep talking to Jackson, keep busy, keep healthy and know that there are people who love you, who want to help you and be there for you." He paused, looking at Aaron, watching him, watching to see if he understood what he was saying, that he wasn't hearing an unmeant negative.

"I can be there for you, for you both if you want," Finn continued. "You can call me, day or night, if you need to; I can come to the court case if you want. You only have to tell me."

Aaron looked at Finn, looked again into the strangely captivating eyes, listened to the magic healing in his words, and knew Jackson had been right, he had found a peace.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

It had been dark for several hours when they finally drove away from the Vicarage, Finn and Greg waving them off from the front door. They had offered them a bed for the night, but after a quick, almost unspoken conversation, Aaron and Jackson had declined the offer.

Aaron was driving, wanting to concentrate on something other than the thoughts in his head; thoughts that would tumble and spin uncontrollably if he was only looking out of darkened windows for mile upon mile. Watching the road, the other cars, he could focus; think only of the moment, delay the time when he would need to reflect on the afternoon, the conversation.

"You okay?" questioned Jackson, slipping his hand onto Aaron's leg, rubbing, just a little, up and down. They had left the lights of Hexham behind them; his face was in profile, in deep shadow, unfathomable.

"Yeah, fine. A bit tired."

"We could have stayed," concern filled Jackson's voice.

"Nah, it's kinda tired in my mind, y'know," said Aaron, struggling to explain. "And to be honest, I'd rather be in our own bed. Least I can get a long lie if Cain's not expecting me first thing."

"Just say if you want to swap over."

"Will do. Can you see if there is anything on the radio?"

Jackson pressed the scan button, scrolling through channel after channel until he found a station playing music they both liked.

Conversation lapsed into comfortable silence; the car ate up the miles on the empty roads. Jackson closed his eyes; he wanted to talk to Aaron, to ask if the time he had spent with Finn had been...helpful...that wasn't the word he wanted, but he couldn't drag a better one to mind at this time of night. And now wasn't the right time either, perhaps when they were home, safe in bed, or perhaps tomorrow, or perhaps not at all.

He must have dozed off; the next thing he was aware of was the car slowing to a halt, light flooding the car from numerous lamps, a building brazenly lit in front of the car.

"Services," said Aaron briefly. "Could do with the loo and a coffee."

The lights were hideously bright after the darkness of the road, even allowing for the other traffic. The restaurant was still open, was probably open all night; there were people sitting at a number of the tables. Jackson went along the counter, collecting two large coffees and a couple of chocolate biscuits; by the time he had chosen a table Aaron had joined him.

"Thanks," he said. "For today I mean, not just the coffee."

"Was it okay, whatever you talked about?" asked Jackson, immediately wishing he hadn't, wishing he had left it as he meant to.

"Yeah, it was good just talking to somebody with a bit of distance, if you know what I mean. Kinda puts it into perspective." Aaron smiled at him. "And that car was amazing!"

"Worth all the nightmares just to get a shot, was it?" teased Jackson.

Aaron grinned at him. "Deffo! Well, almost!"

"You're awfully cheerful," said Jackson, "what's wrong with you?" he questioned.

"Nothing," said Aaron, quickly looking serious again. "Like I say, it's perspective, isn't it. And they won't last forever, will they? A month or so just. But the car was beautiful!"

Jackson smiled at him, enjoying his good humour. "You want me to drive the rest of the way?"

"Nah, I'm fine to keep going, if you're okay with that. We're well over half way, an hour or so."

Back at the car, Jackson slid into the passenger seat, wriggling down so his head rested fully on the support, intending to close his eyes, doze again for the rest of the journey.

Aaron swung the car out of the car park, back onto the motorway and quickly picked up speed.

"He said he would come to court with us, if we wanted him to," he said quietly; aware that Jackson had his eyes closed, feeling, in a funny way, that somehow that made it easier to speak. "Wonder what my mam would make of him? Or Cain?"

"Chas would think 'what a waste' and Cain wouldn't know whether to slag him off for being gay or god squad," replied Jackson lazily. "Do you want him to come?"

"If we definitely had to appear, maybe," said Aaron thoughtfully. "But if we are just hanging round, I don't think so. Gave me his mobile number though. And I told him to call me if he had any more trouble with the car."

"Ah!" said Jackson, sitting up and opening his eyes, "you just want to get your hand on his car again," he continued, his voice teasing. "Run your hands down her body work, tinker with her engine; why are cars always 'she'? Bit pervy for a gay mechanic, isn't it?"

"Oh shut up!" said Aaron good naturedly, "and go back to sleep."

Taking him at his word, Jackson slid back down in the seat a little, turning slightly towards Aaron, putting his hand back on Aaron's thigh, sliding as far as he could reach between his legs, enjoying the feeling of his hand clasped between Aaron's muscular legs.

"Too much of that and I'll have to pull over," murmured Aaron.

"Just as well I'm going to sleep then!" replied Jackson, beginning to move his hand out from between Aaron's legs a little, smiling as, quick as a flash, Aaron's hand dropped down onto his own, stilling its movement, preventing its escape. Neither said anything, words weren't needed; Jackson didn't doze again, enjoying instead, the pressure of Aaron's hand on his wrist, there until at last he needed to change gear as they finally left the motorway.

Smithy Cottage was in darkness as they drew up outside, save for a single light behind the front door left on in anticipation of their return. They were quiet moving through the house, up the stairs, wanting to wake neither Paddy nor Hazel, wanting no inquisition so late at night, so early in the morning. Bed beckoned; their large, comfortable bed that took up most of the bedroom; Aaron was tired but his head was buzzing, he didn't know if he would sleep yet, didn't know if he dared to sleep yet; surely, he was tired, so tired, his sleep would be undisturbed.

Jackson was already deep under the covers, his eyes closed, when Aaron came from the bathroom, came into the bedroom, but Aaron knew he wasn't sleeping; he smiled a little to himself. Quickly lifting the corner if the downie, he slid underneath, slid closer to Jackson, rolled towards him, put out his hands.

"Jeez! You're freezing!" Jackson yelped, jumping as he felt Aaron's touch. "Keep away from me!"

"Oh but you're so warm and cosy," said Aaron, moving closer, "and I need a heat."

Jackson opened his eyes, looked up at Aaron, into his blue eyes, sparkling with invitation.

Aaron moved even closer, cuddled in, enjoying feeling Jackson squirm as his cold body pressed against Jackson's warm one, relishing sharing his warmth. With one quick, wriggling movement, he slid on top of Jackson, caught his arms, pinning them above his head, began kissing him, gently at first, quickly letting his tongue feel its way into his mouth, flicking along the edge of his teeth, the minty taste of toothpaste lingering.

"Are you not tired?" gasped Jackson, catching his breath.

"Yes, but I want you more than I want sleep right now. Why? You complaining?"

"No," replied Jackson, lifting his head suddenly, hungrily kissing Aaron back.

Releasing his hands, Aaron moved his own hands down, sliding one behind Jackson's back, letting the other caress his body, over his flank, almost down to his buttocks, his fingers moving lightly, teasingly. Changing his position slightly, he twined one leg around Jackson's leg; his other foot pushing Jackson's free leg away from him. Now, gripping with his thighs, he could push his hips downward, hard down, enjoying the pressure against his hard cock, catching his breath, savouring the feeling. He knew Jackson was hard too, knew his excitement was matching his own; he trailed his fingers across his groin, teasing, letting his anticipation build, letting him wait for his hand to take him, hold him; he heard his breathing change, catch, heard him hold his breath as he took his rigidly aroused cock in his hand. Teasingly, at first his grip was light, his fingers gently caressing, ringing his cock, sliding up and down, feeling him move underneath his hand, push into him.

"That feels good, Jay, doesn't it? My hand on your cock, working you," Aaron whispered quietly. "Oh, not too quick now; I want you to cum for me, but not yet, Jay, not yet."

"Oh god don't hold back! ... Really need you! ... Shit Aaron! ... Just fuck me, will you!" Jackson gasped between breaths.

Moving, suddenly kissing him, Aaron pushed his tongue as far into his mouth as it would go; pushing against his tongue, forcing it to dance, fight against his own, feeling his arousal growing, his need increasing. He broke the kiss apart, gasping for breath, quickly turning, sliding his hips over Jackson's chest, bringing his lips close to Jackson's cock, kissing his slit, tasting his juice already beginning to flow.

Suddenly a stinging, nipping fingertip slap set his arse on fire, the echoing tingle of the feeling ripping through his body, increasing his desire.

"Lift!" exclaimed Jackson, pushing at his butt cheeks, trying to move under him.

Understanding, Aaron raised his hips, felt Jackson's hands grip him, moving, manoeuvring, felt his own cock taken, felt Jackson rake his teeth, gently, dangerously over it before he took him fully in his mouth.

Their rhythm uniting them, increasing; their urgency, their need building quickly, their bodies moved together as they took each other's cocks deeper, swallowing, tasting.

Aaron knew he was near to coming, exploding; he could feel the rising tension throughout his body, the feeling concentrating itself in his twisting guts, in his clenching balls. Unable to help himself he paused swallowing, needing to concentrate on his own pleasure. Quicker, quicker his hips thrust, fucking Jackson's face until the explosion came; and he came and came, Jackson taking it all.

Even as his passion was spent, Jackson moved, pushed him roughly off his chest until he was lying on his face, his breathe coming in short, sharp gasps.

"I need to get off, babes, I need to fuck your arse," Jackson gasped breathlessly. "Is that okay?"

"Oh god Jay! Yes!"

Jackson pushed his hand underneath Aaron, found his cock, still sticky; cupping it quickly, he slid his hand backwards, smearing the stickiness to his crack, his arse. With no gentleness, he pushed one finger, then another into Aaron's hole, pushed hard then withdrew, quickly replacing them with his cock, taking only a second to ease the head in before beginning his thrusts, hard, urgent thrusts; he could hear Aaron groan with pleasure, with a hint of relished pain at each deep penetration. Growing, sensations, building, building to a crescendo of sensation flooding through him, bursting like a damn overflowing; he came again and again, spasms tearing through him, until at last he was spent, sinking back on to the bed to be gathered into Aaron's arms for the rest of the night.

...

It was daylight when he opened his eyes; he lay for a minute, listening. Beside him, Aaron was still fast asleep, curled almost completely under the covers; listening, he could hear his rhythmic breathing. But nothing else; no sound of movement from the other bedrooms, no sound of his mum or Paddy downstairs; he really didn't want to face either of them just yet, dreading their inquisition. He looked at the clock; it was almost 11 o'clock; they were probably both out. It should be safe to go downstairs for a coffee; a peaceful coffee.

He slid from the bed, scrabbling among the discarded tumble of yesterday's clothes for a pair of boxers. Once decent, he left Aaron undisturbed, then stood at the top of the stairs, listening. Still nothing, he crept down as quietly as he could, the living room was empty too; he was right, they were both out! Moving more quickly, more confidently now, he went into the kitchen.

"You took your time getting downstairs!" His mother looked at him, looked at him with that piercing gaze that as a child had him believing she was a witch and really could see into his head, see what he was thinking.

"Well! How did you get on? Yesterday!" She looked at him, both eyebrows raised in question.

Inwardly he groaned, knowing there would be no escape, not even to put on more clothes. All he could do was hope for rescue.

Hazel placed a mug of coffee in front of him, and waited.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Do we have to do this now?" Aaron moaned crossly, towelling himself dry in the bedroom after his shower. He wasn't long in from his work, had spent the day looking forward to a quiet night; the telly or perhaps just a couple of pints. The text from Paddy telling him they were having visitors that evening had left him feeling grumpy and out of sorts; cheated of his evening.

"It's less than two weeks away, Aaron," said Jackson, reasonably. "We need to decide." He lay on the bed, already showered and dressed, admiring the view.

"But with all of them!"

"Well they are all coming to Scotland and they need to help decide where we're staying. It won't be easy to get somewhere."

"Why not?" asked Aaron.

"Think about it; we're ok to share a room, but the rest of them? Mum and Paddy, Chas and Cain? Or perhaps Paddy and Cain, Mum and Chas, do you think they'd go for that?"

"No I suppose not," agreed Aaron, a grin briefly lightening his grumpy expression. "I just hope Paddy has plenty of cans in."

"I stocked up in the supermarket in Hotton on the way home," Jackson said smugly, catching the towel as Aaron threw it at him.

"Clever git!" said Aaron, opening a drawer, looking for clean boxers; lingering a second or two longer, knowing that Jackson was watching him, admiring.

He pulled on his clothes, not bothering with socks or trainers, then held out his hand to Jackson, pulling him from the bed, pulling him into his arms for a quick kiss before heading downstairs to face the evening.

Hazel was in the kitchen, the table piled high with bags she was systematically emptying into cupboards and fridge, with a separate stack, waiting to go in the freezer.

"There's mince made in the pan, just needs heated; and potatoes peeled, change the water and put them on to cook Jackson, will you. And Aaron, put this lot in the freezer for me."

"What time are my mam and Cain coming over?" asked Aaron, suddenly finding his arms filled with freezing bags of food.

"Half seven, eight," Hazel replied. "Freezer Aaron, now!" she continued sharply.

...

They had eaten, cleared away and Jackson had the laptop on the kitchen table, already searching the internet – again - before Chas and Cain arrived.

Aaron lay stretched on the sofa in the living room, trying to watch the television, not seeing what was on the screen. He sipped at a can in his hand; barely grunting hello as Paddy let the visitors in, not moving from the sofa.

"Hello Aaron," said Chas, looking down at him, her greeting ignored.

"Oi!" exclaimed Cain. "She's speaking to you."

At that, Aaron looked up, glaring at Cain.

"Come through to the kitchen," interrupted Paddy, not wanting the evening to start badly. "You too Aaron, please," he continued, his gaze steady, encouraging.

Aaron flung himself to his feet, quickly pushing his way ahead of Chas and Cain, claiming the seat next to Jackson at the table. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself; he didn't know why he was feeling so narky with them; after all he had agreed to them staying together while the trial was on. Jackson gave him a quick smile, briefly touched his leg under the table with his own.

"Wine or a can, Chas," asked Hazel, handing Cain a can without even asking.

"A can please, Hazel," said Chas, taking the seat next to Aaron.

"So have you found anywhere?" questioned Cain.

"Not yet," admitted Jackson. "It's er...tricky."

"What do you mean, tricky?" said Cain crossly. "One double room – I suppose you pair of..." he paused, catching the word he was going to say, seeing Hazel's eye upon him.

"I suppose you pair," he revised, "will want a double room. And four singles. What's the problem?"

"The problem is that none of the hotels, guesthouses or B & Bs in the town have that many single rooms," blurted out Hazel, saving Jackson the difficulty of explaining. "Which means we either share," she glared at Cain, daring him to interrupt, "or we each have a double to ourselves."

"Well I'm not sharing with my sister, or him," Cain nodded towards Paddy. "And I'm afraid you're just not my type," he smirked at Hazel.

Unfazed by his remarks, Hazel raised her eyebrows, "you wouldn't be able to keep up, Cain," she said, verbally patting him on the head like a little boy.

Behind the laptop screen, Jackson slid lower in his chair, grinned at Aaron, was relieved to receive an answering smile, allowing him to hope his mood was thawing.

"Well I don't mind sharing," said Chas, "save money, won't it."

"You are not sharing with him!" Aaron exclaimed, glaring at her, looking to Paddy for confirmation.

"I didn't mean with Paddy," said Chas, a little bemused at Aaron's sudden outburst. All that was behind them; they had both moved on, she thought he knew that. "I meant with Hazel."

"Well I'm up for it if you are," smiled Hazel. "What about you boys?" she looked between Paddy and Cain, her eyes sparkling with laughter now.

Their faces were pictures of horror; mirror images of what they thought of that idea, even had they both not protested their dislike of the idea in absolute unison; there was no mistake, they would not be sharing.

"Right then," continued Hazel, "That's a double, a twin and two doubles or twins, but check if they have any singles Jackson."

Jackson looked at the computer screen, clicked, clicked again, looked up, looked at the faces round the table, the faces watching expectantly.

"I'll be a few minutes, checking availability," he said, hoping they would take the hint, move away, stop watching him. "Can I get another can, and a pen and bit of paper?

Aaron got up; by the time he had reached the fridge, taking more cans out, there was a general scurry of movement away from the table. He handed Jackson his can, keeping one for himself; then found his way blocked by Chas, found himself herded to a quieter corner of the kitchen as Paddy, Cain and Hazel wandered through into the living room. He lent against the work top and waited.

Chas glanced at Jackson, engrossed; she would rather have spoken to Aaron alone, but at least Cain and Hazel had gone out of the room with Paddy.

She looked at him, looked into his face, surly and scowling, wondering what she had done wrong now.

"Are you still alright, with this, Aaron? With us staying together? It's just..." Chas paused, uncomfortable, awkward in what she was trying to say. "It's just if you'd rather we didn't, now's the time to say."

Aaron sighed, his eyes flicking all round the kitchen, seeking escape. He let his eyes rest on Jackson a moment; Jackson engrossed in what he was doing. He knew Jackson thought it was important that they stayed together, had encouraged him to accept the idea; he had done, had asked Chas and felt pleased, realising that Jackson had been right, seeing her delight.

Finally he looked at Chas, shook his head, a tiny movement, resigned, bemused, he wasn't sure quite how he felt.

"No, it's fine. It's just...I'm tired; I'll be glad when it's all over."

"If you're sure then, cos, Cain and I, we can easily get somewhere else," said Chas, missing a chance to ask, to understand him, just a little more.

Aaron looked at Jackson, aware now that he was watching him, smiling at him, his huge chocolate brown eyes full of unspoken encouragement.

"I'm sure," said Aaron firmly, "we'll all stay in the same place. You finding anything Jackson?"

"There're a couple of possibilities, need to run them by everyone."

A few minutes later they were all gathered round the laptop as Jackson flipped through the websites of the hotels, the B & Bs, that appeared to be able to accommodate them. Aaron said nothing, not joining in the buzz of discussion and debate; he didn't really care where they stayed, he just wanted it over, finally behind him. Eventually they settled on some sort of order, a shortlist that suited everybody. Jackson agreed to phone them in the morning, the evening had passed, it was later than they expected, the chance to finalise arrangements gone until the next day.

"What about travelling up there?" Hazel asked, her cheeks glowing after a glass or three of wine. "Are we all going together?"

"You and Chas can go by broomstick," muttered Cain into his can of lager.

"What did you say?" asked Hazel, not catching his words.

"I said the lads can get the car back," Cain said, covering his tracks. "The Megane they borrowed the other week."

"Thanks Cain," said Jackson, looking towards Aaron, waiting for him to speak, to add his thanks.

"Yeah, thanks Cain," added Aaron, responding to Jackson's unspoken prompt.

"Oh, I don't know," said Chas. "Maybe Paddy and Hazel would prefer to go separately. Paddy?"

Surprised at the question, thrown into confusion at having to give an opinion, Paddy muttered and mumbled, dithered, stuttered.

"Well, maybe...perhaps. What do you think Cain? Perhaps we don't need to decide now?" His head swithered from one to another, wanting someone to agree with him, someone else to make the decision.

Aaron looked at Jackson, caught his eye, raised his own eyes upwards, indicating his desire for escape. Nodding, agreeing, Jackson began shutting down the laptop. Around them, animated conversation flowed between their relatives, plans and possibilities thrown into the melting pot of ideas, argued for and against by each and all.

Unnoticed, Jackson and Aaron moved from the kitchen, crossed the living room, reaching the safety of the stairs; freedom beckoned, the freedom and privacy of their bedroom.

Reaching their oasis of peace, Jackson flung himself on the bed, Aaron perching awkwardly on the edge.

"Oh my god!" exclaimed Jackson, laughing, stretching, putting his hands behind his head.

"What is there to laugh at?" said Aaron moodily.

"If I didn't laugh at them, I'd go mad," he smiled. "Did you hear what Cain said?"

Aaron shook his head.

"He said that our mums could go by broomstick. Broomstick! Amazed that one of them didn't hear him; they would have so had him! And we've got three days with the four of them! Madness!"

Aaron smiled; he couldn't help himself, seeing Jackson, catching his infectious laughter, he allowed the pictures to form in his mind; Chas and Hazel on matching broomsticks, soaring and diving, tumbling and crashing.

"Yaaayyyyy! A smile!" teased Jackson, rolling round, pulling him backwards onto the bed. "Now! What could I possibly do to keep you smiling?" Looking down at Aaron, his dark eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Fuck me senseless, let me wake up on the 4th when it will all be over," Aaron smiled up at him, his bad mood evaporating. "Failing that, stick a DVD on and come under the covers with me."

"What do you want on?" asked Jackson, going to the pile of DVDs beside the small television.

"Nothing heavy," replied Aaron, sliding out of his trackkie bottoms, sliding under the covers, leaving his trackkies to drop to the floor.

Jackson turned two DVD boxes towards him in suggestion, smiling, hinting which of the two he would prefer.

"Okay, 'Kinky Boots' it is then. But don't think I don't know you fancy that Lola one," Aaron teased.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," smirked Jackson, dropping his jeans before sliding under the covers, pulling Aaron into his arms. "I dare say I could fancy you in a pair of thigh high boots," he let his cold fingers trail along Aaron's bare thigh under the covers. "Shiny red PVC ones, 6 inch heels..." Jackson's voice took on a dreamy quality, his eyes misting, imagining the scene playing in his mind.

"No way!" exclaimed Aaron, laughing.

"And you could wear them under your overalls, nothing else, then I would peel your overalls off leaving..."

"Keep it in your dreams, Walsh!" Aaron interrupted. "You can be such a perve!"

"And you love it!" replied Jackson, pulling him in closer, stealing a kiss, enjoying the response from his lips, the movement in his body as he pushed himself closer, continuing the kiss.

"Right, film," said Jackson as their lips parted, as they cuddled further under the covers against the cold. "I'll give it a while, let Chas and Cain get away, then get coffee."

But there was no coffee that night, there was very little film seen or enjoyed, very little fantasy entertained. Sleep quickly overcame them, tangled and entwined bodies sharing their night; peaceful and troubled, dreamless and dream-filled. As Aaron's sleeping mind was flooded with pictures, images, teasing him, tormenting him still; Jackson was beside him, stirring, not to full wakefulness, yet not asleep either but able to take him, hold him, comfort him, allowing him to sleep again, knowing nothing but his presence until morning.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

A week, just a week to go; less really, there were only six days until they travelled north again. He kept trying to push it from his mind; sometimes it worked, for a few minutes, for an hour or so; often it didn't and his head was buzzing and bubbling with scenes and possibilities. And however rational he tried to be, however much he tried to make himself believe, as he had been told, that the likelihood of having to testify was small, it was there, a nagging demon in the back of his mind, lying briefly dormant, then raising its head, tormenting him. If he stood in the witness box, he would feel again every punch, every blow, every kick, hear every foul word, every poisonous name, every hurtful damning of his love.

He leant against the car he was supposed to be fixing, resting his head on his folded arms, his fingers straying to the leather band around his wrist, worn now, testament to its constant presence on his arm since the day Jackson gave it to him in the summer. He ran his thumb over the indented leather, the movement soothing, calming him.

"Oi! If you've finished that one, you can take the Focus to Hotton; MOTs booked for four," Cain shouted across at him, looking at him. The cracks were beginning to show now, he thought to himself; there were dark shadows permanently under his eyes, eyes that often looked into the distance, seeing nothing, ignoring the present.

Cain bit his lip, thinking; he had tried to keep him busy, working on cars, running errands, but there was only so much he could do, so much of his time he could occupy, only so much work at the garage. He flung a set of keys across the yard at him, stood, watched while he drove away, then reached for his phone and began to text.

...

Aaron drove away from the garage on the edge of town; the MOT hadn't taken very long; he would have liked to cruise around a bit in the evening twilight, but Cain would go daft if he put too many miles on the clock, used too much fuel; he could just about get away with going the long way through town, back to Emmerdale.

The road was a quiet one, not quite residential, not quite industrial, limbo, a hinterland. Driving slowly, he couldn't decide why the figure at the roadside in front of him was familiar, something about his walk before he came to a halt, his stance as he stood, waiting for the traffic to pass. He was level, almost beyond him when it clicked; Simon. Quickly indicating, he pulled into the side of the road, looking in the mirror, reversing a few yards.

"Simon!" he dropped the window a few inches, leaning over, called his name. "You want a lift?"

Simon turned, at first not registering who was in the car; then seeing, he moved towards the car, opened the door.

"What are you doing here? Bit out of the way for Emmerdale isn't it?"

"MOT," said Aaron, believing that explained everything. "Just heading back, but I can easily give you a lift; I'm not in any hurry."

"Thanks!" said Simon, slipping quickly into the passenger seat. "How's things?"

"Shite," replied Aaron briefly. "Well, not really, just be glad when the court case is over."

"I bet!" said Simon. "Turn right here." Simon directed Aaron through streets he didn't know until they drew up outside the flat he shared with Robbie. "You got time for coffee?" he asked.

...

Jackson looked at his phone; seconds earlier it had pinged, indicating a text message. Flipping it open, he read it; it wasn't who he expected; most of his texts were from Aaron. He typed a quick reply, an acknowledgment. He would need to think, to plan; would likely need some help. A few moments later, he typed his own message into his phone, clicked send.

...

"Tea, coffee?" asked Simon, filling the kettle, spooning coffee into two mugs as Aaron indicated his preference. "Are you organised for going away?" he asked, handing Aaron the brimming mug.

"Sort of," replied Aaron, "we've somewhere to stay during the trial, then Jackson and I are having a week to ourselves afterwards."

"Sounds good; the afterwards I mean," said Simon, qualifying his statement. "And how are you?" He looked at Aaron, seeing the stress, the anxiety of waiting etched upon his face; he waited a moment, then added "Jackson told us. About the nightmares. We've been friends for a long time," he added by way of explanation.

Aaron looked at his coffee, swirling in his mug in response to the unconscious movement of his hands. "Been better, but it will soon be over." He tried to sound sure, stoical, convincing himself.

"Hard to keep positive though, eh mate," said Simon, a question, a statement, both, neither.

In the brief silence, in the moments that Aaron was forming an answer, Simon's phone pinged; briefly excusing himself, he read the message, glanced at his guest, typed a quick message, an affirmative, sent it in return.

"What are you and Jackson up to at the weekend?" he asked.

"Aaron shook his head, "nothing much, as far as I know," he said. "Dunno if Jackson is working; if he has something to finish, he might do a few hours."

"Come over then," said Simon. "Lunchtime Saturday; we'll do something, go out at night. Stay over again, if you can cope with the single bed," he smiled at Aaron. He smiled, glancing at his phone, enjoying the irony, the synchronicity; the text he had just received from Jackson, asking for help to keep Aaron occupied at the weekend, to give him less time to think, to brood, to worry; the last weekend before the trial.

"Sound," said Aaron, grateful for the offer; he had been dreading the weekend, the time dragging, the clockwatching, the counting down hour upon decreasing hour. All week it had been on the back of his mind, not that he had said anything to Jackson; he couldn't say anything to Jackson, he had enough to worry about.

Simon talked easily, trying to put Aaron at his ease, trying to talk about anything that would not reflect back onto the coming week.

Aaron finished his coffee; it had been good, an interlude, a few minutes talking about nothing in particular, relaxing. But he needed to move.

Simon closed the door behind him, watched him drive away then picked up his phone, found the number he wanted and clicked dial.

"You are never gonna believe who was here, drinking coffee, when your text came through," he said as the call was answered, as he smiled, hearing Jackson's surprise at the other end of the phone.

...

When Aaron got back to Emmerdale, the garage was locked up for the night; after parking the car, he dropped the keys through the letterbox of Tug Ghyll. There was no sign of Jackson's van outside Smithy; Aaron felt a wave of disappointment wash over him, he was looking forward to telling him they had been invited out on Saturday.

A sheet of paper decorated the kitchen table, two sets of writing; neither Paddy nor Hazel would be in for tea. Aaron grinned to himself; for a while, at least, they had the house to themselves. Helping himself to a can from the fridge, he wandered through to the utility room, to the freezer, looking for inspiration.

By the time Jackson let himself into Smithy, he was greeted by the smell of his tea cooking, the sight of Aaron concentrating on the contents of a pan on the stove. Coming up behind him, he slipped his arms round his waist, kissed him lightly on his neck, peered into the pan, wanting to know.

"Wow! Real cooking!" His teasing tones made Aaron look round; pull a face, smile at him.

"It's just onions. To go with the burger and chips."

"Where's everyone else?" asked Jackson.

"Out, they left a note," Aaron nodded towards the table. "Hey! Guess What! We've been invited out at the weekend; I met Simon when I was coming back from an MOT, had coffee at his, and he said come over Saturday lunchtime. You're not working are you?" Aaron turned towards Jackson again, hopeful, full of anticipation.

"Er...no. Don't have to be," replied Jackson, his face a neutral mask. "What's the plan?"

"Dunno really," said Aaron, turning back to the onions, missing the smile flitting across Jackson's face. "Simon just said come over at lunch time, do something in the afternoon, then out at night and stay over. You're ok with that, aren't you?"

He looked towards Jackson again, his face suddenly clouding, anxiety flooding through him; until that moment he hadn't realised how much he wanted to go out at the weekend, to fill his time, his mind, to have the chance to forget, even just a little.

"Course I am," said Jackson quickly, hearing the worry in his tone, the question in his eyes. "Will be good to catch up, go out. How long till tea's ready? Have I time for a quick shower?"

"So long as you really are quick," replied Aaron, smiling as Jackson opened his eyes wide and pouted, just a little. "Go! Before I give in and let the tea burn!" he laughed.

Without Hazel to nag, to keep them right, they took their tea into the living room, sat side by side on the sofa, let the television chatter, half to them, half to itself. After they'd eaten, ignoring the dishes, empty plates on the floor beside them, they sunk lower into the sofa; Aaron curled under Jackson's arm, his head resting on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. They hadn't bothered to put the lights on, just a small lamp, its gentle light leaving the room shadowy, intimate, an easy atmosphere for comfort, for conversation.

"You okay, Jackson?" asked Aaron, moving, turning so that his head rested in Jackson's lap, stretching his legs along the length of the sofa.

"It's just that you don't say much...about how you are feeling," he continued. About next week. Have to spend too much time coping with this drama queen," he finished wryly.

"I'm fine, babes; don't worry about me," replied Jackson, his fingertips rubbing slowly across Aaron's head, feeling the shape of his head under the spikiness of his cropped hair. "You drew the short straw that night, it's hard, I understand."

Aaron moved again, his hand reaching up, reaching behind Jackson's head, pulling him lower, lifting his own face, closing the gap between them, his eyes watching Jackson's dark eyes, almost black in the dim light, almost black, opened wide with desire.

Gently, tenderly at first, their lips met, hardly touching, teasingly light kisses melting together, joining them, beginning to arouse them. Aaron let his tongue find its way through Jackson's lips, run along the edge of his teeth, searching for his tongue; finding it, feel its teasing, welcoming response, dancing, deepening their kiss. Aaron could feel his growing hunger mirrored in his lover, feel the growing urgency of his kiss, the movement of his hands, caressing him, pulling him towards him, into him; wanting him.

Moving, Aaron turned, pulled Jackson down, rolled, pinning him to the sofa. Almost overwhelmingly, Aaron wanted him then, that instant, his hand tugging at the zip on his lover's jeans, feeling the material straining under his fingers against Jackson's swollen cock as he struggled to release him from captivity, gaining freedom to take him.

A second later; a second's grace; voices at the door, the click of the latch.

Groaning in frustrating, in discomfort, in thwarted desire; they rapidly scrambled apart, scrabbling urgently at the disarray in their clothing.

Hazel raised an eyebrow as she walked through the door in front of Paddy, missing nothing.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The ping of a text message arriving penetrated Jackson's dozy lethargy. It was Saturday morning; he didn't need to get up, he didn't need to answer it, he could ignore it, turn over, cuddle tight against Aaron, go back to sleep, to dream. But curiosity was a curse, curiosity played in his mind, disturbing him, waking him; he slid out from under Aaron's arm, heavy in sleep, reached for his phone on the floor, clicked until the most recent message came onto the screen.

_Dnt hv brkfst. Brng spdos dnt tel A. x_

He gazed at it, bemused at the cryptic message; it really was too early to think! He wondered if he was still asleep, if it was written in a foreign language. He checked; yes! it was definitely from Robbie, he sent a brief text back.

_?_

He settled back under the covers, glancing at the time; early enough not to have to move yet. In less than a minute another ping came from his phone.

_Speedos. If req'd. Masefield ;) _

Reading, understanding, Jackson smiled to himself. This could make for an interesting afternoon and he definitely wouldn't be telling Aaron just yet; in fact, probably not until they walked through the door!

…

The smell of bacon frying greeted them even before they reached the front door, growing to epic proportions of deliciousness as Robbie opened the door, showing them in.

"Chuck your stuff in the room; d'you get my text Jackson? Hope you've not eaten, Simon's cooking," he looked at Jackson, a question in his raised eyebrow, a smile teasing his lips

"Yeah, I got it," replied Jackson, allowing himself a small smile at Robbie as Aaron went ahead of him into the spare room. He shook his head slightly; he couldn't believe what Robbie and Simon had thought of for the afternoon, he just hoped Aaron wouldn't freak out too much. Still, would keep him occupied if nothing else! Turning, he caught his breath, watched Aaron drop their bag onto the bed, breathed again as he left it unopened. It had taken Jackson a good deal of rummaging to find Aaron's swimming trunks; he hadn't been entirely sure they had made it back from Scotland in the summer. But eventually he found them, hid them with his own in the bottom of the bag; just now he didn't want Aaron finding them, wondering, questioning.

Aaron wandered into the kitchen; Simon was juggling two frying pans, filled almost to overflowing with bacon in one, eggs in another.

"You needing a hand?" he asked.

"You can keep the bacon turning, that'd be good," replied Simon, handing him the spatula. "It won't be long."

Seeing Aaron busy, seeing him talking to Simon, Jackson slipped back into the bedroom, removed the two pairs of swimming trunks from the bag, quickly dropping them into another, held open towards him by Robbie.

"Whatever makes you think this is a good idea?" Jackson whispered.

"We often go at the weekend," said Robbie.

"God! never knew the pair of you were so kinky!" teased Jackson.

"Well don't let Aaron hear you say that or we'll never get him in the place!" replied Robbie. "And anyway, there's nothing kinky about it," he continued. "Besides, you've been there before, haven't you?"

"Oh yes!" confirmed Jackson. "That's how I know it's kinky!"

"Depends entirely on who you're with," countered Robbie, winking at Jackson.

"You are definitely wicked!" said Jackson, laughing.

They moved back into the living room; it wasn't long before Aaron carried in mugs of coffee, followed by Simon carrying doorstop sandwiches; bacon and oozing egg overflowing from each of them. They ate, talked, laughed; comfortable in each other's company.

Jackson looked over at Aaron, glad to see him relaxed, his face free of worry for once, for what seemed the first time in days, as the court date came ever closer. Even if he did freak out later, at least it would be for something different, completely different.

They left the dishes piled in the sink; grabbing the couple of bags he had ready, his car keys, Robbie led the way out of the flat, into the street.

"No hanky panky in the back now guys," he teased, pinging the lock, getting into the driving seat.

"Hey, this is novelty, neither of us driving; might as well make the most of it," replied Jackson, smiling at Aaron, his hand sliding across the seat, finding Aaron's hand, although he was speaking to Robbie.

"Where are we going anyway?" asked Aaron.

There was a moment of silence, a second or two when nobody spoke, nobody answered; not quite a moment of tension, but of apprehension, suppressed excitement.

"A kind of club" admitted Simon eventually.

"A club," echoed Aaron, "in the afternoon?" He sounded puzzled.

"Ummm, kind of a health club," elaborated Robbie, struggling to keep the laugher from his voice.

"A health club...like a gym," questioned Aaron, struggling to understand what they meant.

"No, a health club...men only," blurted Simon. "Sauna, steam room, pool; you can get a massage...all over," he paused suggestively, "if you want one."

"No way!" exclaimed Aaron vehemently."No flaming way! You're talking about some sordid gay sex club full of prostitutes!" He glared round at them all. "And you're happy with this Jackson?" roughly, forcibly, he pulled his hand out of Jackson's grip, scowling, waiting for answers.

"It's not like that at all," said Robbie, quickly seeking to reassure him, his words clashing with Jackson's response.

"It's fine Aaron, it's a nice place," said Jackson.

"You've been there before?" Aaron questioned; his voice incredulous.

"Umm, once or twice," admitted Jackson, a flush of colour touching his cheeks, making them burn at his admission.

Aaron looked at him, still frowning; an eyebrow raised, waiting. Unspoken questions on his lips, even more chasing through his mind, endless pictures tumbling before him, a feeling of dread washing over him.

"It's okay, Aaron, really," said Simon, turning in his seat, looking Aaron in the eye, suddenly remembering how much younger he was, seeing fear and anxiety reflected in his face as he looked at him.

"It is gay, but it's a four star hotel on the outskirts of Leeds," he continued, "part of the health and fitness suite is men only on a Saturday, there is nothing sordid about it; no drugs, no prostitutes, no random sex," his glance flicked across to Robbie. "Well," he qualified, not between strangers and nothing that isn't totally consensual."

"Aaron," said Jackson quietly, getting his attention. "Do you really think I would let you go anywhere that I knew wasn't safe?" Twisting in the confines of his seatbelt, he reached out, put his arm on Aaron's, gripped, rubbed a little; looked into his blue eyes, trying to convey a message, a reassurance. As he held his gaze, he could see the fear, the anxiety beginning to leave Aaron's face as he listened to Jackson, believed his words.

"No," said Aaron, his breath escaping; he hadn't even realised he had been holding it, just a little. "No, I know you wouldn't." He smiled at Jackson, a little, hesitant smile, just creasing the corner of his mouth. Still unsure, still feeling a twist of apprehension knotting his stomach, but looking into Jackson's dark eyes, he knew he could trust him, he felt his protective care surrounding him; he knew he would be safe.

As they walked through the door, Aaron could see at once that the reality was nothing like the place he had imagined. In his imagination it would be dimly lit, lushly red, sensual; the musky smell of incense masking the aroma of hot, sweaty masculine bodies writhing in... Noticing the reality around him; it was nothing like his imagination; clean, shining silver and white, the only aroma from the fresh flowers that were liberally placed in elegant designs throughout the hotel, into the health club.

Aaron hung back as they paused at the health club reception area, awkward, feeling out of place, he was aware of his heart beat, pounding rapidly in his chest; clenching his fists, he could feel his palms tingling with sweat, with anxiety, returned in full force, despite his confidence in Jackson; this place, it wasn't him. And yet, he could see it was Robbie and Simon, could see the easy, familiar way they spoke to the receptionist, signing them in. Beside him, Jackson glanced quickly at him, smiled as their eyes met, leaned into him, letting their bodies push reassuringly against each other. Aaron smiled wryly at him, shaking his head in disbelief at the situation, the unexpected way his afternoon was going.

Wordlessly accepting the large pile of fluffy white towels and robe thrust at him, he followed Robbie's lead through glistening corridors, through doors into the inner sanctum of the club. Following blindly; if he paused to think, he would run, sheer terror taking control of his steps; even clutching his alien bundle, he could see his hands, could see that they were shaking.

"Changing room," whispered Jackson, roughly pushing him through a door, one in a long line; its green stripe at the lock announcing its availability. "Behave guys," he whispered urgently to Robbie and Simon, "this is a big deal for him, and he's doing great so no teasing, Okay?"

Smiling; smiles of agreement, Robbie and Simon nodded, watching in amusement as Jackson followed Aaron into the small cubicle.

Shutting the door behind him, he moved close, moved into Aaron's waiting arms, silencing the words that were about to pour from his lips with a kiss, a kiss full of the hunger of a man who has not eaten for too long.

"Sorry, I should have told you," said Jackson, when finally they broke apart.

"Then you wouldn't even have got me in the car to come here," replied Aaron, shaking his head. "I still can't believe that I'm here."

"You'll love it," said Jackson, he paused, "actually you probably won't cos you're far too butch," he said teasingly, his dark chocolate eyes dancing with laughter. "You gonna get your kit off any time soon then?" he asked, his eyes flicking suggestively over Aaron's body as he began to pull off his jumper and tee shirt, unzip his jeans.

"What!" yelped Aaron.

Jackson looked at him, shaking his head in mock despair.

"Well you can't go in the sauna, steam room or pool in your trackkies can you?"

"No, s'pose not," said Aaron sheepishly, beginning to peel his clothes off, suddenly feeling awkward, shy, unsure what to do in the strange, alien environment. "What do we...er...umm." his words dried up, unsure how to word his question, he left the sentence unfinished.

Jackson looked at him, guessing what he was trying to say, but not helping him; his brown eyes widened, his eyebrows raised as he waited, silently encouraging Aaron to speak, as he struggled to stop from bursting into wicked, yet sympathetic laughter.

Aaron turned away, difficult in the small room, trying to hide his embarrassment, then almost as quickly turning back again, determined this time to ask.

"Oh for fuck's sake tell me, Jackson! Do we have to go bare naked for this or not?"

Unable to contain his laughter any longer, Jackson struggled to answer him.

"No, I've got your swimmers in the bag, or you can just cover yourself with a towel, or you can boast – if you've got the balls!" he smirked.

"What are you gonna do?" he questioned

"I'm going with a towel for the sauna and steam room, but I'll come back for my trunks to go in the pool," said Jackson, standing naked in front of Aaron's admiring gaze.

"Okay," replied Aaron, turning to search through the towels they had been given for the largest, the safest.

"Sauna or steam room first?" asked Jackson as they emerged from the changing room.

"Umm, dunno..." replied Aaron, the hesitation plain in his voice. "Which would you prefer?"

"Have you had either before," asked Jackson, suddenly sure what answer Aaron would give.

Aaron shook his head, silently admitting to neither experience.

Jackson smiled at him, took his hand. "Come on, we'll go to the steam room first then."

Still keeping hold of Aaron's hand, Jackson lead the way opening the door, he could feel the hesitation, the reluctance running through Aaron's body, pulling backwards, pulling away from him.

"It's fine, babes," he whispered, turning towards him, looking into his blue eyes, seeing the anxiety written plain there. "It's fine, we'll stay together."

Taking a deep breath, feeling the moist, fragrant steam filling his lungs, Aaron let himself be led into the hot, swirling mist, feeling it tingle, bead against his skin even as his eyes strained to see through it, trying to see if there were other bodies lounging on the benches, trying to make out if they were alone.

Slowly moving the length of the room, it took them a minute, perhaps two, to be sure they were alone. Either side of the long, narrow room was lined with benches; they curved out from the walls, covered with the same clinically white tiles. Jackson stretched his full length on one, his hands under his head. The swirling steam was so thick, even this close, he could hardly see Aaron, sitting at his feet.

"Touch me, Aaron," he whispered quietly into the mist.

"What?"

"Touch me, y'know," Jackson paused. "I want you to take me. Now."

"Someone might come in," Aaron stalled, uncertain, yet wanting.

"We'll hear them long before they see anything," murmured Jackson, easing the towel, caught around his slim hips, open, exposing his cock, already growing, hardening with desire.

Still hesitant in the unfamiliar surroundings, but unable, unwilling to fight the feeling of arousal flooding through him, Aaron knelt beside Jackson, knelt at his hips. Tentatively his fingertips reached out, touched Jackson's hip, felt his immediate response, felt his arse rise slightly from the bench in invitation. Letting his fingers move further, feel their way through the damp curls at his groin, he found his rigid cock, let one finger slide the length of it, teasing.

He could hear Jackson's breathing; hear the release of his breath, caught in anticipation of his touch, his caress.

Braver now, gaining confidence in his surroundings, Aaron began to relax, enjoy himself, enjoy Jackson naked in front of him, waiting, watching him, challenging. Still holding his cock, stroking it gently, he let the fingers of his other hand move to Jackson's chest, slide across his ribs, getting close to his nipples, then stopping, circling, first one then the other, watching them harden, rise under his gaze, under his touch.

Moving, but still holding, stroking, Aaron began using his tongue, licking, teasing the nipple nearest to him, gently flicking then taking it in his teeth, rolling his tongue over it, feeling Jackson move beneath him, move to him, knowing his body was flooding with tingling anticipation.

Moving again, releasing the ache in his knees from the hard floor, Aaron climbed onto the narrow bench, lying between Jackson's legs.

"Sorry Jay, I'd really like to lye beside you, kiss you," he whispered, his voice husky with desire, despite the steamy atmosphere. "Let my tongue meet yours, dance between our mouths, before I kiss every bit of your body, taste you..."

"Shit Aaron, stop talking! Do something else with that mouth of yours before I cum already!" gasped Jackson breathlessly, urgently, pushing his hips towards Aaron's face, hinting, needing.

Taking the hint, Aaron turned his attention fully to Jackson's cock, holding it, rubbing his thumb hard over the slit, watching Jackson writhe beneath his touch, watching the pre-cum already oozing from it. Delicately he brought his mouth down, slid his tongue over the head, teasing, tasting him. Slowly he took him into his mouth, letting his teeth rake over the tender skin before beginning to move up, down, before Jackson took over, thrusting upwards.

Resting on his elbow, one hand on Jackson's leg, steadying him; Aaron slid his other underneath his butt, caressing his arse, gradually moving his fingers towards his crack, towards his enticing entrance. Finding it, he could feel it tense, contract and relax as he touched it, teased it in anticipation. One finger, entering, pushing, taken welcomed; joined by a second, pushing harder now, thrusting; Aaron could feel the muscles clenched against his intruding fingers, heightening Jackson's pleasure, turning him on even more.

Unconsciously, Jackson groaned; with the part of his mind that was still functioning, he knew he was getting close, he didn't want to hold back, yet he want to pleasure Aaron too. Trying to sit, to move to reach Aaron, he was roughly pushed back by the hand that had been resting on his hips.

Abandoning restraint, Jackson moved both his hands behind Aaron's head, held him, then gave himself up to fucking his face; harder! faster! seconds later he could feel the ball-clenching explosion as he came into Aaron's mouth, his whole body shuddering as his orgasm consumed him.

Swallowing, but coughing too, he had almost been unable to take all that Jackson was giving him, Aaron rolled onto the floor, struggling for breath.

"I'm sorry babes," gasped Jackson. "You okay?"

"Will be in a minute," replied Aaron, coughing again. "Padded, and wider benches, would be good, don't think I will ever feel my knees again."

"Sorry," said Jackson again.

Aaron sat up, turned to him. "Don't be; that was..." he left the rest of the sentence unsaid, the sparkle in his blue eyes eloquence enough.

"What about you?" asked Jackson, still panting, still trying to find his breath.

"Later Jay, you can owe me," replied Aaron, his wide blue eyes looking steadily into the dark chocolate ones, even darker than usual, their pupils still dilated with desire, with lust.

Jackson looked back; that was a debt he would enjoy paying, a debt he knew neither of them would forget. He smiled.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"Jackson! Jackson!" Hazel's voice echoed up the staircase. "Come down and get these shirts; I've ironed all of them for you."

Jackson raised his eyes in despair, in exasperation, shaking his head; he could iron his own shirts, had been ironing his own shirts for years, could probably iron his shirts better than his mother.

"Go on then," smirked Aaron, turning from the wardrobe, pausing for a moment, looking at Jackson, surveying the piles of clothes around him, around them both.

"If I'm not back in ten; send out the search party," he said, reluctantly opening the door, leaving.

Aaron turned back to the piles of clothes, trying to decide what to take, what he might need; everything and the kitchen sink it seemed to be so far. He sighed, assessing the chaos once again; he might tease Jackson about his mum, her fussing, her interference; but she was there. Where was his mam now?

Mentally shaking the thought from his head, he began raking through the tumbled piles of clothing again, searching; he had definitely had three shirts put aside, ready to pack. Lifting clothes, moving them from one pile, creating another; gradually one item after another found a home, either in the bag to go or in a tumbled heap to remain.

The door opened, Aaron couldn't see Jackson behind the pile of ironed and folded clothes he carried.

"She's been up here, rummaging," he said, dropping the pile on the bed, "she found your shirts and did them too. Sorry."

"No worries. Just thought I was going mad," said Aaron, peeling the layers of clothes back, searching for his own things.

An hour later their bags were packed; their suits on hangers, ready to go, ready to be loaded into the car in the morning. Aaron looked at them, looked at his suit, could feel his stomach beginning to tighten, to churn, in anticipation. He hated that suit, it felt jinxed; bringing more memories he didn't want to think about but couldn't escape. He wore it to court the day he had had to admit what he had spent years hiding, years running away from, who he truly was. He had worn it when they buried his grandfather in the garden of Wishing Well Cottage; buried him before he had had chance to make his peace with him. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a second or two, determinedly trying to fight against the memories, the dread that could so easily flood through his body, overwhelm him.

"Shall we take them down now, or wait till morning," he asked, breaking the easy silence that had grown up between them as they packed, each lost to their own thoughts.

"Would give us a bit more room if we take them down now," replied Jackson, smiling at him, seeing, understanding, a little, at least, of the battle that had been raging within Aaron, that he had been struggling to control, that for the moment he was controlling.

Lugging the bags into the living room, they were surprised to hear voices coming from the kitchen, female voices, giggling, outright laughter.

Aaron glanced at Jackson, they both recognised the second voice, neither had been aware of her arrival. Nodding towards the door, Aaron indicated they should leave, escape while they could. Turning, Jackson stumbled, tripped over the bag he had just left on the floor; any hope of escape disappearing with the noise of his stumble, his cursing.

"Aaron!" Chas appeared on the steps leading from the kitchen. "Aww, you're all packed and ready son!"

As she came towards them, Aaron noticed the glass in her hand, the unsteadiness in her step.

"How many have you had?" he asked, scowling at her.

"Just one or two," she fibbed. "I came over to help you pack, but Hazel opened a bottle," she waved her glass at him. "I could have done your ironing for you."

"Oh I did that," said Hazel, coming through the doorway behind Chas, "for both of them," she added smugly.

"O-oh," said Chas, dragging the exclamation out, questioning, sarcastic.

"I didn't ask her to," said Aaron hastily.

"Well is there anything that I can do for you; anything that Hazel hasn't already done?" she asked, her tone bitter.

"Oh have another glass of wine, Chas," said Hazel, cheerfully. "I'm just here with nothing better to do.

Chas looked at Hazel, for a moment, for a spit second her response hung in the balance.

"Oh! go on then," she said, following as Hazel turned, headed back into the kitchen. "Thank goodness neither of us are driving tomorrow," she commented, pausing to drain her glass.

Aaron looked at Jackson as their mothers disappeared from view, shook his head; this was something else to dread, to worry about over the next few days; the oldies.

…..

After making good their escape, they didn't bother going back downstairs again; it was late enough anyway, bed beckoned. Quietly, in the room dark except for the subdued light from the street lamp in the road outside, the radio played in the background. Aaron lay on his stomach, his hands clutching his pillow tight under his head; he didn't want to sleep, didn't dare to let sleep over take him yet; he knew the nightmares would visit him again.

He had had some nights of respite, nights when he could cope, face them, understand them. But since the weekend, as the day drew closer, as the hours grew less, until he would have to face the reality of his nightmare, his nights had been profoundly disturbed again. Last night he had woken, wet with sweat, muddled, disjointed images tumbling one upon another through his sleeping mind, to find Jackson holding him, hugging him against his shaking, trembling body; murmuring to him, comforting him, being there for him, as always.

Now he lay, half listening to the radio, wholly enjoying the sensations as Jackson, lying beside him, trailed his fingers gently up and down his back.

"Do you think they are still downstairs?" he mumbled.

"Dunno," replied Jackson, pulling the downie a little higher over them, cuddling closer against Aaron's body. "I'm just glad we don't have to have the two of them, with hangovers, in the car with us tomorrow."

"Cain'll go mad," murmured Aaron lazily.

"And Paddy'll be trying to keep the peace, keep everyone happy," smiled Jackson.

"Especially if they throw up in his car," continued Aaron. "He had me gutting it today, and checking it and the Megane over."

"Oh well! Kept you out of mischief then," teased Jackson, letting his hand move from Aaron's back, lower, curving over his buttocks, caressing. Bending his head to nibble at his shoulder, his neck; feeling Aaron push back into him

"What mischief would I get into at the garage?" scoffed Aaron, turning his head to look at Jackson in the darkness, a challenge in his eyes.

"Depends who calls in for a coffee, doesn't it?" said Jackson suggestively.

"Ah! You mean the delivery guy from Motorspares; he's definitely fit. Yeah if Cain was just out of the way when he had a delivery to make..."

"Git!" exclaimed Jackson, moving his fingers quickly, turning from caressing to teasing, instantly finding Aaron's sensitive, ticklish places; places he knew so well, could find so easily, delighting in Aaron squirming under his touch before turning enough to retaliate. Tickling, a return to caressing, hands touching, fingers exploring, arousing, mouths meeting, tongues dancing, fighting. Laughing, tangled bodies under the covers, no winner, no loser, two bodies united in the darkness of the night, fighting the night together.

...

"Mum!" he shouted; there was no answer. "Mother!" louder, needing an answer, "have you seen my wallet?"

"Jackson. There is no need to shout. I am only in the next room, not at the other end of the village." Hazel's voice was quieter than usual, strained, her sentences short, deliberate, the effort it took to utter them clearly heard in her tone.

"Oh dear," said Jackson loudly, cheerfully, coming into the kitchen, finding Hazel at the table, nursing a mug, staring at it, hoping it contained a miracle. "Got a bit of a hangover have we?" He grinned at her, far from sympathetic.

"No-oh," replied Hazel carefully. "I am just feeling a little delicate this morning; must have been something I ate."

"Or drank," he scoffed. "How much did you and Chas put away last night anyway?

"Just a bottle," she replied. "or three."

"So have you seen my wallet?"

"No Jackson, I haven't seen your wallet. You're a big boy now; you need to look after your things."

"Sorry I asked," he said. "You want some paracetamol?"

"I've had some. What I want is to go back to bed and sleep for a week."

Jackson looked at her, his expression quizzical, questioning, knowing she didn't really mean what she said; waiting.

"Oh Jackson! Of course I'm coming. I'll be fine, eventually."

"Best take a bag with you, just in case," he smirked. "One for Chas too, if she's as bad as you."

"Thank you for your concern," Hazel replied, he tone laced with sarcasm.

Jackson laughed, but came towards her, gave her a reassuring hug, before leaving to try and find his wallet; once he had, he and Aaron could get away.

...

An hour later, the Megane was loaded, ready to go; Cain and Chas had arrived, Jackson had been amused to see Chas looking far chirpier than his mother, although two more mugs of coffee had helped. Coffee hadn't helped Aaron; signs of strain, signs of his sleepless, troubled nights were clear to see on his face, clear in his movement, his pacing, his impatience to be off, his reluctance to leave.

Eventually Hazel and Paddy's bags were stowed away in Cain's car; they had taken their seats; Hazel in the back, next to Chas, Paddy in the front, waiting for Cain to get in, waiting as Cain leaned into the Megane, speaking to Jackson and Aaron.

"Do not go mad speeding," he said, scowling at Aaron behind the wheel. "The forecast is bad so take it steady; it doesn't matter if we get there late on. Are your phones charged?"

"Oh just do one Cain and let us get on," said Aaron crossly, "of course our phones are charged."

"Button it kid, and if you're driving, mind what I've said."

"Oh whatever," Aaron's tone was sulky.

"We'll take it carefully," said Jackson, his manner conciliatory. He caught Cain's eye, saw the concern behind the words, saw what Aaron, in his anxiety, hadn't seen, often missed.

Cain nodded, watched as Aaron let the window slide up, shutting out the cold air, watched as they drove away before turning towards his own car, waiting to begin his own journey.

Aaron glanced in his mirror as he turned out of the village; he could see Cain still standing at his car, waiting for him to turn from view.

"You okay?" asked Jackson quietly. There had been so little time to talk as the last minute preparations of the morning took over; the morning that had come too quickly.

"Yeah," replied Aaron with a sigh. "Three days, and it will done."

"Three days and we'll be on holiday, alone," said Jackson; he moved his hand over to Aaron's leg, rubbed it, just a little, his actions more than a touch suggestive.

"Three days of them, of hanging around in court, to get through first," replied Aaron, placing his own hand on top of Jackson's.

"Three days that will soon be over, that will put an end to it," said Jackson his voice quiet again.

"Yes," agreed Aaron, risking a rapid glance at him, a flash of smile. Relief flooded through him, unexpected, surprising; it was the beginning of the end; whatever happened, soon he wouldn't have to think about it again, soon he would have his life back; soon he would have his nights back; nights to share with Jackson, nights to share with nothing else. He released a long, slow breath and looked at the road ahead.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The phone sang out on the dashboard; Aaron looked at Jackson as he reached for the mobile.

"Got signal back then," he commented, glancing at the screen to see which of the four was calling. "Paddy," he read aloud; clicking to accept the call.

"Hey Pads," he greeted him, then listened, rolled his eyes, held the phone away from his ear, letting Jackson hear Paddy's worried rant.

"We won't be that long, half an hour, forty-five minutes, an hour tops," he looked towards Jackson for confirmation as he spoke. Jackson just nodded, not taking his eyes from the road.

"We stopped in Hexham for a while, alright!" he said, annoyance plain in his voice now. He paused, letting Paddy speak at the other end of the phone.

"No, that's fine, you go ahead, we'll get something when we get there."

"Yes, we'll take care," he sighed, shaking his head, listening to Paddy's concern, to his instructions. "Yeah, see you soon," he ended the call.

"That us in the doghouse then?" asked Jackson.

"Oh yes!" said Aaron. "They've been phoning for over an hour, wondering where we are. Didn't realise there was a black hole in the world of digital communication." He pulled a face, raising his eyebrows in mock despair.

"Ah but it was peaceful, wasn't it?"

"While it lasted," agreed Aaron. "Shall we turn round and go back again?"

"Wish we could, mate, wish we could," Jackson replied. There was a touch of sadness in his voice as he answered Aaron's unrealistic desire. He could feel a sense of anticipation beginning to twist, to knot in his stomach; with every mile that he drove northward the desire, just touched upon by Aaron, mirrored in his own feelings, to turn, to run away, grew ever stronger. Yet he knew, they both knew, that they had to go on, had to continue their journey, to play the end game in the tournament that had begun in the summer.

Well within the hour, they had arrived at the hotel; approaching the small town, they knew the Sheriff Court would be within their view...if they looked. But they kept their eyes carefully averted, easier in the darkness than had it been daylight, reaching their hotel at the other end of the main street a minute or two later. There were no spaces in the front of the hotel, but they passed Cain's car as they followed a short lane beside the building to a larger car park to the rear.

Gathering their bags, about to walk back to the entrance, Jackson suddenly dropped his bag to the ground, pulled Aaron to him and in the dark of the night, in the dimness of the distant street lamps, looked intently at him, scrutinising his face, trying to read his feelings, trying to reassure him. Saying nothing, leaning closer, their lips met, gently, tenderly at first, then harder, needier, hungrily joining their bodies momentarily, forgetting reality, until pulling reluctantly, breathlessly apart.

"It'll be ok, y'know," he said, taking Aaron's face between his hands. "This is just a formality."

"I know," replied Aaron, glad of his reassurance. "Wonder if we can get in here without getting caught?"

"Probably...not," said Jackson decisively, picking up his bag from the ground.

Walking slowly, delaying as long as possible their arrival at the main entrance, they wandered from the car park back down the lane at the side of the hotel. Turning the corner, caught in the bright light flooding from every window, it was only a yard or two to the main entrance.

"Definitely not," said Jackson, nodding at the window they were passing, the window of the hotel bar, drawing Aaron's attention to a waving figure. "We've been spotted already."

"Brave face it is then," said Aaron, reaching the circular, revolving door.

"Two brave faces," agreed Jackson, plastering the largest, fakest smile on his face that he could dredge from the depths of his increasing anxiety.

"Jackson!" Hazel had already launched herself from her chair and was halfway across the bar towards them as they entered the hotel. "We were worried about you! Thought you would have been here before us. You should have phoned us," her words tripped over themselves in the enthusiasm of her greeting, the hug she inflicted on her passive, accepting son.

"Black hole, mother," said Jackson, disentangling himself. "No signal," he continued, seeing the puzzled expression on her face. "Now can we just go and check in, dump our bags?"

"Of course son, sorry. The food here's quite good, do you want me to order you something?"

"Leave it just for a bit mum, will you? We'll be back down soon enough."

"Yes. Yes, of course." Flustered now, she turned back towards the bar, then back again. "I'll get you a couple of pints in, shall I?"

"That'd be grand mum," said Jackson, reassuring her. Turning, he headed towards the reception desk.

Behind him, Aaron nodded to his mother, to Paddy and Cain; a few minutes more, a few minutes respite before facing them.

Their room was on the second floor, at the front of the hotel, looking out over a square, a patch of grass that in the summer was busy with people enjoying any sunshine there was, playing pitch and putt; a patch of grass which now held the town Christmas tree, its colourful lights cheerful in the winter darkness of an evening perhaps not as late as it felt.

Aaron stood at the window, the curtains not yet pulled, looking out at the tree, further, at the shops, their windows still brightly lit despite having been closed for several hours.

"You ok?" Jackson came up behind him, slid his arms round his waist, let his head rest on Aaron's shoulder.

"Yeah, could do without going back downstairs though, or with more than a pint."

"Saturday night. We can celebrate then. This will be over, they will be away and we'll have a whole week to ourselves."

Turning, moving within his encircling arms, Aaron faced Jackson; put his own arms around Jackson's neck, quickly kissing him.

"Can't wait," he said, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief, with possibilities.

"Well, you'll just have to, tonight anyway," said Jackson, unclasping his hands from behind Aaron's waist, releasing his hold on him. "We'd better get back downstairs before mum comes up to get us."

Aaron dropped his hands from Jackson's neck, instead thrusting his hips, just a little, just enough to ensure that Jackson could feel him. Dropping his head a little, he pouted, gazed up at Jackson, his eyes teasing, inviting.

"Slut!" laughed Jackson, "you can't get round me by camping it up like that!"

"Damn! And I've been taking lessons from Simon too," replied Aaron, enjoying the moment, the chance to escape from the reality waiting for them, downstairs and the following day, even for so brief a time. "Better go down then, face them." The teasing, the fun of a minute before disappeared as he considered the evening; considered further ahead, the day to come.

"We don't need to stay down long, grab something to eat, a couple of pints, then come back up and watch telly," said Jackson.

"Let's do it then," said Aaron, opening the door.

...

"You two took your time getting up the road," growled Cain as they crossed between the tables in the bar towards the one where Paddy, Cain, Chas and Hazel were seated.

"They stopped in Hexham," said Paddy before either Aaron or Jackson reached the table, before either could speak.

"To see your god-bothering mate," sneered Cain.

"To see a man with a 1960 Triumph TR3A," replied Aaron, ignoring his tone. "That I get to drive," he added, a trace of smugness in his voice.

"Sweet," acknowledged Cain. "But you should still have let us know; we've had to put up with these two wittering on like idiots for the last hundred miles when they couldn't get you on the phone."

"Should have thought, Cain, sorry," said Jackson quickly, before Aaron could get annoyed with him. "You look a bit brighter, mother."

"Had me breakfast in some services, fry up, the works, felt fine," said Hazel.

"Threw up five miles from Emmerdale, then had your breakfast in some services, then felt fine" chipped in Chas.

"Oi you!" exclaimed Hazel, "you said you wouldn't tell him!"

"Sorry!" said Chas, sounding anything but.

"Well I'm alright now, that's the main thing," said Hazel comfortably.

"Aw pet!" teased Chas, "large glass of white is it?"

"I'm never drinking again," announced Hazel. "I'll just have a spritzer!"

"Mum," groaned Jackson.

"And you two had better not have more than the one pint," added Chas. "You don't want to be smelling of alcohol tomorrow."

"And who made you the pint police," snapped Aaron, tension making his words harsh, more unkind than he had meant. "I'm sorry," he added quickly, rubbing his hand over his head, his lips pursed together, trying to steady his breathing, control the stream of anxiety that threatened to turn into a flood and overwhelm him.

However hard he tried, he could not rid his mind of thoughts of the day to come, of the walk down the main street, retracing their steps of the summer, passing the place where...where... His eyes caught Jackson's, saw the care, the concern there, saw the encouragement that said hang on, just a little longer.

"A couple of pints won't hurt mum, honestly," he said, his voice quieter, more reasonable. "And I'll clean my teeth three times in the morning."

"Well I'll be smelling your breath, just to check," Chas smiled, smiled to show she was joking, more or less joking.

Aaron raised his eyebrows, nodded briefly; with a wry half smile acknowledged, accepted the attempt at humour, but said nothing, not trusting himself to speak, not wanting to chance his anxiety, his apprehension surfacing again, making his words sharp and hurtful. He nursed his pint, listened to the conversation around the table but not joining in; wanting to escape, but escape, the end of the evening would bring the morning closer.

He made his second pint last; a third, a forth, a fifth, onwards to oblivion were just wishful thinking. He yawned; tiredness threatened to consume him, or so it felt; yet he knew he could sleep so easily, but tonight, of all nights, he wouldn't be at peace. Looking at Jackson, looking at his laughing face as he responded to some joke, some comment that Aaron had missed, he knew he was looking at a mask, a mask of normality that hid the dread, for him, for them both, of the day to come.

Eventually they were at the only table left occupied in the bar; the end of the evening, the beginning of tomorrow could be postponed no longer.

Regaining their room, their alien oasis, they didn't bother putting the lights on, throwing their clothes off, quickly climbing into bed by the light of the television, quietly chattering high on the wall.

"Leave it!" said Aaron, as Jackson pointed the remote, preparing to switch it off. "I could do with the mindless distraction."

"It'll be fine," said Jackson, sliding his arm underneath Aaron, pulling him, hugging him close. "It's just a formality, us being there, y'know. Hey! You're shaking!"

"Sorry."

"Hey, don't apologise, come here babes." Jackson pulled Aaron even closer, so close not even a breath could find a space between them.

In the changing, flickering light of the television, in the broken quiet of the night, feared sleep, fought against but ultimately overpowering, claimed them. Slowly, quickly, at some unknowable time in the darkness, Aaron began to move, to moan, to cry; his body convulsing in response to the pictures haunting his dreams. Stirring, Jackson became aware of the troubled movement, the body drenched in sweat beside him, the cries, incomprehensible, all the more fearful for their strangeness, their agony.

Moving to take him in his arms once again, Jackson began stroking his face, talking, words, nonsensical words, hoping just the sound of his voice would reach him, bring him back, release him to sleep the rest of the night in peace.

...

Dawn was late; it was still dark when the alarm on the mobile rang announcing the day. Wakened, but hiding, shrinking away from the day, Aaron pulled the covers over his head; if he didn't move it would be real.

"Coffee," said Jackson. "Come out and drink."

Aaron pushed the covers from his face but didn't move to lift the mug Jackson had left beside him. His eyes felt gritty with tiredness; to Jackson as he looked at him, they seemed sunk into his pale face; his troubled night plain to see.

"We're better just getting on with it now, getting it over with," he said quietly, returning to his side of the bed with his own mug.

"I just feel..." he paused, searching for the words, the idea he was trying to capture. "I just feel drained by it already, and it hasn't even started yet."

"Forty-eight hours," said Jackson, his hand reaching for Aaron's across the bed. "We have been counting down until today for so long; now we can start counting down until it is over." He smiled at Aaron, smiled into the troubled blue eyes, leaned over, kissed him, capturing his lips with a kiss tender, gentle, full of reassurance. "We need to move babes."

A little over two hours later they were standing outside the Sheriff Court; Aaron gazed at the old redbrick building set at right angles to the glass and concrete facade of the police station. His head was pounding, he hadn't been able to face any breakfast, his body was missing it, yet he knew his stomach would have rejected it had he tried to force anything down.

Behind him, Cain was speaking, Chas too, yet they might have been speaking in a foreign language for all that reached him.

Next to him, Jackson moved slightly, pushed his shoulder against him, his hip. Reminding him of his presence; reminding him that they were there together.

Inside now, their names taken, shown to a small room, hard benches lining the walls; wait they were told, somebody would be with them shortly. No one spoke; even Hazel said nothing, sitting silently biting her lip. The tension was palpable; absently, unaware of the movement, Aaron slid his hand into Jackson's, waiting was the worst now, he could feel his heart beating, pounding; his mouth drying, his stomach knotted, twisting, a shivering, shaking, taking control of all his body.

"Mr Walsh, Mr Livsey, this way please. The Sheriff's Officer needs a word." The dark suited figure said nothing more, but held the door for them before leading them away from the security of their families, away from four pairs of eyes watching them leave.

Another room, an office, more comfortable, they were shown to chairs. Rigid control now, Aaron clenched his teeth, could feel the muscle in his jaw contracting.

He was speaking now, the official; but it didn't make sense.

"Mr Walsh, Mr Livsey, I'm very sorry. One of the defendants has changed his plea. He is pleading not guilty; you will both be called to take the stand, to give evidence"


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"...pleading not guilty; you will both be called to take the stand, to give evidence."

The words reverberated round the room, round his head; it couldn't be true, he couldn't have heard right. All the time, for weeks, months, they had been told this wouldn't happen; they were pleading guilty, the police had witnesses, CCTV...a good case...a watertight case. No, he must have misheard; he looked at Jackson.

He looked at Jackson, he wished he hadn't looked at Jackson; wished he hadn't seen the colour drain from his face, his pallor confirming the words that still seemed to echo around the room.

"No," said Jackson, his voice quiet, bemused, struggling to understand. "No, we were told... why...have they got new evidence or something?"

"I really couldn't say, Mr Walsh," he looked between the two young men, his expression softening. "I just don't know any more at the moment; we only heard ourselves this morning. Someone from the police or Procurator Fiscal's office will be along to see you shortly and I can organise someone from Victim Support to speak to you if you wish."

"No... No that's fine," he said, "isn't it Aaron. Aaron? You okay?" increasing concern filled Jackson's voice as he spoke.

Aaron didn't speak, couldn't speak; he could hardly believe the words he was hearing; they had been so sure, been told so often...reassured. Why had they never considered the unthinkable...the catastrophic. Putting his hands to his face, pushing his fingertips into his closed eyes, he tried to gather his thoughts, gain some coherence in the muddle of his mind.

Washing over him, sudden, overwhelming, gut-wrenching terror; he wanted to run, to get out of that room, to get air, to breath, taste freedom after the claustrophobia of the words surrounding him, crushing him. To run away from the memories he was being forced to face; more than that, the memories made reality, made flesh, made body and blood in front of him, standing feet away from him. Perhaps standing close enough, if he put out his hand, to reach, to touch, to be reached, to be touched again, to be hurt.

Washing over him, sudden waves of nausea, churning, tumbling, clenching his stomach; rising, he could taste the acid, bitter gall threatening to flood into his mouth. Gasping, seeking direction to a bathroom, he almost stumbled, away from the words, away from the official, away from Jackson.

Convulsing, gagging, there was nothing to dilute the bitterness, the searing liquid choked up, spat into the basin. Unaware of anything except his own world, he wasn't aware of Jackson until he felt an arm sliding around his shoulders, his quiet comfort, the senseless words that said more than eloquence ever could.

Turning on the tap, letting cold water splash into the basin, he cupped his hand, scooping small handfuls of water urgently into his mouth, rinsing, spitting again. Taking the proffered bundle of tissue paper, he stood, wiped his lips, moved into Jackson's enfolding arms.

Seconds, minutes, for time unknown, uncounted, they stood, holding each other, not yet ready to face the world outside themselves again. The stood, gathering strength, resolution from the closeness of each other.

At last they returned to the small, bleak room, to the sympathetic gaze of the court official.

"I'm sorry," muttered Aaron, as they enter the room.

"No. I'm sorry, Mr Livsey; it was the shock, I completely understand."

"Can we go back to our family?" asked Jackson, "while we wait."

"I'm sorry," repeated the official. "We have to ask you to wait in the witness room. I can get a message to your family; they can go into court, if they wish, for the case. You will be able to join them once your evidence has been heard."

"When…" asked Aaron, unable to complete the sentence, unable to say more.

"We expect the session to begin very shortly. Can I ask you to follow me now?"

He lead them from the room, down seemingly endless passages, dark, gloomy corridors, to another room, larger, yet mirroring the room they had been in; the same drab decoration, the same plastic covered chairs, the same air of despair, of desolation. A coffee machine stood on a table in one corner, tatty, well-thumbed magazines piled high on another; on the wall a flat screen television chattered quietly, mindless daytime programmes with happy, chirpy presenters from a glossy fake-filled world. The room was occupied; a middle-aged woman sat as far from the door as possible; for a second, a split second, her eyes opened wider, in surprise? in shock? in discomfort? as they were shown in, she said nothing however.

Aaron and Jackson slid into chairs, side by side; assessing their surroundings, settling into them, settling to wait, to endure, for the time ahead, for hours, for however long it took.

"The coffee is free, so help yourselves. Someone will be along to speak to you shortly," the official nodded to them as he spoke, emphasising, encouraging. He left; silence entered the small room with his departure.

Lost in his thoughts, Aaron sat, seeing everything, seeing nothing; sitting next to Jackson, the small, uncomfortable seats allowed them to sit, close, touching, yet not quite comfortable in acknowledging that touch, conscious always of other eyes upon them, surreptitiously watching them.

"Coffee?" asked Jackson a while later, his voice quiet, neutral, hiding all that he wanted to say, only his dark eyes, catching Aaron's, spoke volumes.

"Sound," not trusting himself to say more, Aaron's answer was short, yet in the brief moment he looked directly at Jackson, looked into his eyes; he saw the warmth, the concern, the message of comfort contained there.

"Can I get anything for you?" Jackson spoke to the third occupant of the room for the first time.

"No, no not just now, thank you," flustered, the woman pulled her coat tighter round herself, seemed to sink deeper into her chair, into herself.

Jackson nodded, saying nothing more, collecting the two coffees, handing one of the corrugated cardboard cups to Aaron, their fingers meeting, touching for the briefest of moments, their eyes flicking together, meeting.

The coffee was hot, strong, it's bitterness covering, disguising the lingering taste of the acid vomit still coating Aaron's mouth. He looked into the dark, ebony depths, feeling the heat from the cup warm his cold hands, inhaling the pungent aroma as he sipped, as he tried to think of nothing, anything.

The door clicked open, interrupting, intruding on the thoughts he was trying to avoid. A moment of fear, anticipation, he could feel the sudden flood of panic rising through his body in the seconds before the newcomer spoke.

"Mr Livsey, Mr Walsh; Angela MacKenzie, Procurator Fiscal's office. I wonder if I might have a word with you both. Please, bring your coffee with you." Abruptly, without waiting for their response, their agreement, she held the door open, waited for them to pass wordlessly through before leading them to yet another office, drab and lifeless.

Indicating they should sit, she pulled a chair from behind the desk and sat, less formally, facing them, suddenly looking less imposing, more human.

"Mr Lively, Mr Walsh," she paused, looked at them. "Actually, do you mind if I call you Aaron and Jackson, while we are not in court?"

"No, that's fine," replied Jackson; looking at her more closely, he could see now that she was older than he first thought, faint lines fanning out from her eyes, her lips, crinkling as she smiled briefly.

"Aaron, the clerk said you had been unwell? Are you alright now, do we need to postpone?"

"No, I'm fine, it was just a shock, don't postpone, please," he replied quickly, urgently, his voice rising a little in panic.

"So long as you are sure then," she said, nodding gently, looking at him steadily."

"I am," said Aaron, keeping his voice firm.

"Very well, "she said, pausing a moment. "Firstly, I must apologise for giving you no prior warning that you would have to appear as witnesses. The Fiscal's office only heard late yesterday afternoon about the change of plea; we did try to telephone, but you must have been en route."

Jackson nodded wordlessly, his jaw clamped shut, struggling to control the tremors threatening to spill his coffee, betray his apprehension, his fear.

"You'll be called separately to give evidence; there is a jury for this trial so the court will look full, but try not to be put off by the number of people. The prosecution will question you first, then the defence." She looked from one to another, seeing their youth, knowing the trepidation but unable to help, unable to stop it.

"I must warn you," she hesitated, "when the defence counsel questions you, they will be...very direct. Probably asking you intimate details of your lives, the injuries you sustained. However difficult the questions, try to remain calm and answer clearly." She looked from one to the other; trying to sound reassuring, she continued speaking. "The prosecution has a very strong case; the CCTV, other witnesses, a lot of circumstantial evidence; if the jury don't find him guilty, even without your testimony, well..." She let the sentence hang unfinished in the air; she didn't even want to think about a not guilty verdict.

"Is there anything you want to know," she asked. "Aaron? Any questions?"

Aaron shook his head, catching his bottom lip with his teeth, biting his lip, not trusting himself to speak, not trusting his voice to remain steady.

"How soon...when will it start?" Jackson asked hesitantly, needing to know, yet dreading the answer.

"They're selecting the jury just now; the sheriff with give them some instruction, guidance, then they'll begin. I'm sorry, I don't know when you will be called, hopefully it will be today."

Aaron felt his heart sinking again, could have sworn his whole body sank, sagged dejectedly at the thought of possibly another twenty-four hours or more of dread, of anticipation, before they appeared as witnesses. He leant back in the chair, his eyes closed, concentrating for the moment on steadying his breathing, trying to calm the nerves flooding his body, the butterflies gripping his stomach.

He opened his eyes to find the sympathetic gaze of Angela MacKenzie resting upon him, to find the concerned eyes of Jackson looking at him.

"I'm so sorry about this, Aaron; I can only imagine how hard it is for you – for you both. All I can say is that we will do our best to secure a conviction for you." She looked from one to another, "if there is nothing else, I'll show you back to the witness waiting room."

They followed her back to the room they had been in previously, occupied now by two unspeaking people, another woman, younger, joining the one who been there when they left.

Regaining their seats, they gazed, unseeing at the television, turned the pages of magazines months, years out of date. Watched the clock, ticking so slowly by, watched one woman leave when called by a name they couldn't remember; watched the second woman called, leave, glancing back at them before the door closed behind her.

It was a relief to be alone, to be able to slide one reassuring hand into another, to slump against each other; jumping apart when plates of sandwiches were brought in; the court was adjourned for lunch.

The clock ticked slowly into the afternoon; the magazines had all been read, rather, the magazines had all been flicked through. Aaron slumped in his seat watching the moving pictures on the screen, not caring that he couldn't really hear the words; not caring that he wasn't really following the plot.

The click of the door opening sounded loud in the quiet room; in unison, at the sound of the click, they turned towards the door. After the false calm that had descended upon them during the tedious time of waiting; anticipation, dread, trepidation came flooding back, knotting, clenching at their insides, twisting like the sharpest knife in the seconds longer that it took the official to enter the room, to say the name, to tell them who was going to face their attacker first. And who would be left alone with his thoughts.

...

_Thanks to all who are reading and have reviewed, it's great getting your feedback. I know nothing about how the court system, so I'm just making it up to suit myself. G.x_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"Jackson Walsh? Jackson Walsh, follow me please."

There was no time; no time to say good bye, no time to hug him, exchange even a few words of support, of encouragement, of comfort. No time for anything except the slightest touch of their finger tips as they parted; their eyes holding each other's until the last possible moment, until Jackson went through the door with a final glance behind him, leaving Aaron.

He followed; the only sound echoing down the faceless corridor came from their footsteps, clattering on the tiled floor, taking him further and further from Aaron, taking him closer and closer to...to whatever awaited him through the double doors they were approaching.

Into the witness stand, the polished wood smooth under his fingers rubbing slowly, nervously along the edge as he confirmed his name, his address, read the card held up to him, affirming that he would tell the truth. He spoke like an automaton; this was the easy part, half his mind, the whole of his heart could remain with Aaron.

It didn't last, it couldn't last.

The Procurator Fiscal stood up, ready to begin the case for the prosecution; beside him, Angela MacKenzie flicked a quick glance, a brief message of encouragement, to him.

"Mr Walsh," the tone was formal, ponderous, "can you describe the events of the night in question to the court."

This was it; Jackson let his eyes look over to the jury, sitting impassively, waiting in anticipation for him to begin speaking; his peace, and Aaron's, in their hands. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, searching for the public gallery, searching for the reassuring face of his mother, of Paddy, even Cain and Chas. He saw them; saw the small, brave smile on Hazel's lips as she nodded at him encouragingly, saw the confused sympathy on Paddy's face, saw Cain looking less than comfortable, saw Chas, anxiety, dread, plain on her face.

He turned back to face the court and began speaking, answering questions the procurator Fiscal put to him, drawing out his recollection of the evening, of the meal he shared with Aaron in the Indian restaurant, of walking along the pedestrianised main street in the rain, of the moments leading up to the assault.

As it got closer, the moment he had been dreading speaking about, dreaded having to share; he felt his heart beating faster, louder, so loud surely everyone in the room could hear it, feel the vibrations radiating from his body. Suddenly aware of his breathing, suddenly there was no air in the room, suddenly he could feel the prickling heat of sweat across his back, the words tripping, stumbling as they came from his mouth as he had to tell the judge, the strangers in the jury - his mother - of the first time he felt hands touching him, touching him in anger, in hatred, hands that wanted to hurt him, hurt him for reasons he found so hard to understand.

He could feel tears pricking behind his eyes; traitorous tears he had steeled himself not to cry, now his body, his emotions were betraying him. He let the tears slide gently, slowly down his face, unwiped, unheeded, until they became lost in the soft hairs nuzzling along his chin.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the questions stopped, the Procurator Fiscal was thanking him, sitting down, shuffling papers, waiting. They were all waiting.

Slowly, so slowly, the defence counsel got to his feet, looked at the papers spread across the desk in front of him, looked at Jackson, waited; allowing the time to lengthen, the tension to rise imperceptibly, unbearably.

"Mr Walsh," his voice was quiet, gentle, "Mr Livsey is your boyfriend?"

"Yes," Jackson felt his heart pounding again as he answered, as he told himself to keep his answers as brief as possible, to try, once again, to control his emotions.

"How long have you been going out together?"

"About seven months."

"Is he your first boyfriend?"

"No."

"Are you faithful to him?"

"Is there a point to this line of questioning?" The Sheriff's voice cut into the question even before Jackson had fully realised what he was asking.

"Just a little background information, sir," the defence counsel's voice was smooth, syrupy, confident the Sheriff couldn't fault his answer.

The Sheriff looked at him for a moment, a thoughtful, almost troubled expression clouding his eyes. "Very well, I will allow your question, but not much more in this direction, not much more at all."

"I'm grateful for your instruction sir," he sounded anything but. "So Mr Walsh, are you faithful to Mr Livsey?"

"Yes," replied Jackson, speaking as firmly as his nerves would allow. "Yes I am.

The defence counsel looked at him for a second, for another, letting the moment stretch; stretch to the verge of becoming uncomfortable.

"So, Mr Walsh; please look at my client, do you recollect seeing my client during the incident."

Slowly Jackson looked over towards the dock, to the young lad sitting there, his face a neutral mask, angelic. "I don't know, maybe; it was dark, raining."

"Can you be sure Mr Walsh; have you seen my client before?"

"No. No I can't be sure"

"Do you recognise him as one of your assailants?"

"I can't say..."

"So you don't think you have seen my client before and you cannot identify him as one of your attackers." It was a statement, loudly spoken, cutting across anything Jackson might be trying to say, a statement directed firmly towards the jury.

"You told the court you went for a meal at an Indian Restaurant; did you see my client there?"

"No but..."

"So you did not see my client in the restaurant. In fact, Mr Walsh, it seems like you have never seen my client before today."

Jackson looked at him, not sure if he was expected to answer that, if it was a statement or a question; he said nothing, waiting. He glanced towards the dock, looked at the lad sitting there, trying to read his expression; was there a smugness in his face, in his eyes; could anyone else see that, or was it only him?

"No further questions."

The words, the end, came unexpectedly; dragging his gaze from the defendant, dragging his attention back to the court, Jackson glanced at Angela MacKenzie. Seated beside the Procurator Fiscal, she nodded a barely perceptible movement of her head, the tiniest lifting of one corner of her mouth, a wry half smile, her meaning clear; don't worry, don't panic.

Hardly hearing the Sheriff's instructions, the tap on his shoulder from a suited official made him jump. A subtle, understated movement beckoning him, leading him from the witness box, away from the crowded court to the empty, echoing corridor. Wordlessly following, for a moment he thought, he hoped, so desperately hoped he was being led back to the room where Aaron waited; but no, that was silly, they wouldn't let them meet again until Aaron had given his evidence.

Climbing stairs, reaching a door; he suddenly realised where he was being taken; to the public gallery, to his mother, to see Aaron give his evidence. The suited, silent official opened the door, wordlessly directing him through; entering, it took a second or two to locate Hazel, to see her from behind, surrounded by other heads, the familiar and the strange.

Moving quietly between the seats, shuffling his way along the row, waiting for people to move, to slide further along the bench seats, making room for him to sit next to Hazel, he was taken in her arms, in her enfolding embrace even as he tried to look down into the court below.

He hadn't known he was going to cry, hadn't felt tears stinging against his eyes, but silent sobs were suddenly wracking his body.

Hazel held him, stroked the short, tight curls on his head.

"I'm so sorry, mum," he whispered.

"Hush, you did so well my boy," Hazel whispered back, not quite so quietly.

"But I didn't recognise him," Jackson replied, the agony, "I've not helped at all."

"That doesn't matter, you told the truth, that's all you can possibly do. Everyone understands that."

Below them, in the court, the next witness was confirming his name. From that moment nothing else mattered; pulling from his mothers embrace, barely acknowledging the silent greetings from Paddy, Cain and Chas, all his attention was given back to the court.

Below them, Aaron was speaking.

...

He stood staring at the door, staring at the closed wooden door where Jackson had been seconds before, staring at it as if by sheer will-power he could make Jackson reappear. How long for, he didn't know; it could have been ten seconds or ten minutes; time was unimportant, for the moment he was alone, he had never felt so lonely in his life.

Releasing a breath he must have been holding, at last he turned; glad there was no one to witness his unease, his anxiety. He began pacing, aimlessly prowling around the small, confining room; glancing out of the window, glancing out to see only the sad concrete backside of another building. He picked up a magazine, flicked a page open, another, mindless, glossy images stared back at him; he flung the magazine back on the table, his mind racing, all his thoughts with Jackson, what they might be asking him, what he must be feeling.

He could feel his stomach churning, anticipation making every nerve in his body tremble; moving, he could keep the nerves at bay, keep his body from shaking uncontrollably. Back to the window, leaning heavily on the sill, he tried to breath steadily, to calm himself, to think about what was to come, what they might ask him, what he should answer; breathing steadily to calm himself, he tried to push it as far from his mind as he could.

The noise of the door, clicking suddenly open, sounding loud in the silence, startled him. It was someone else coming in, some other witness, some other case; he would have to sit, rigidly controlled, just waiting.

"Aaron Livesy."

He heard, he didn't move, didn't believe; it couldn't be, it was too soon, it was an eternity yet no time at all.

Jackson!

He had run out of time; the suited official repeated his name, glared at him, impatient. There was no choice, no chance to escape, of avoiding the ordeal; no chance of being in Jackson's arms until it was over.

Each footstep felt unreal, his world had turned on its axis and was familiar no longer. In front of him, double doors glided smoothly open; within their frame he could see into the court, with each reluctant footstep the frame became large, the view greater. Shown into the witness stand, he let his glance stray around the court, looking at its occupants even as they were looking at him. At last his gaze came to rest on a face he recognised.

He looked at the man in the dock; he found his nightmares made flesh.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Looking across the crowded court, he saw nobody, was aware of no one but the young lad, ages with himself, standing in the dock. Looking at him, keeping his gaze steady, he could see the confidence, the smugness about his eyes, the sureness that nothing could touch him; that he would soon walk free.

Looking at him, all the nerves, the sickening apprehension that had wracked his body, acknowledged and insidious, suddenly melted into nothingness. Replacing it, jangling through every fibre of his being, was anger; white heat reaching every part of his being, white heat ferociously controlled.

Stepping into the witness box, his fingers moved caressingly over the polished wood of the rail in front of him, a movement he was unaware of, his concentration not leaving the dock in front of him.

Until his attention was drawn; drawn to the rest of the court, to the Sheriff, to the jury, to the Procurator Fiscal and the suited official demanding he speak, confirm his name, affirm that he would speak only the truth. Yet there was one face he hadn't found, one face that he wanted the reassurance of seeing above all others; he hadn't thought to turn around, to look up. But he knew he was there, close, he knew it even as he knew his own name, spoken aloud.

As he came into the court, as he took his place, his attention on the person in the dock, the Procurator Fiscal looked at him, at the young man, his witness and suddenly breathed a little easier. The formalities over, the Procurator Fiscal rose to his feet.

"Mr Livsey," he began, waiting until he had the full attention of his witness. "Mr Livsey, can you tell the Court what the gentleman in the dock was doing the last time you saw him?" It wasn't how he had planned to begin his questions, but watching the young man, young Aaron, suddenly he knew with all the experience of his years, to change his plan.

For a moment, a second or two, Aaron said nothing, only nodded; the court, the jury, everyone waited.

"Yes," his voice was quiet, "he was holding Jackson; holding him while another lad..." he paused, his voice caught, "...while he touched him, then hit him."

"He was holding Mr Walsh," repeated the Procurator Fiscal. "Could you describe exactly how he was holding him, Mr Livsey?"

"He was pulling his arms behind him, shoving his shoulder against a wall."

"He was pulling his arms behind him," the Procurator Fiscal looked over towards the jury as he slowly emphasised Aaron's words. "So Mr Livsey, how would you describe the defendants position in relation to Mr Walsh?"

"He was behind him."

"From their relative positions, do you believe Mr Walsh would have been able to see the defendant clearly?"

"Objection!" The defence counsel's voice cut through any chance of reply by Aaron. "That will be pure supposition on the part of the witness."

"Indeed," answered the Sheriff, "but as Mr Livsey has clearly already told us the defendant was behind Mr Walsh, I am inclined to allow the jury to hear his point of view on this." He nodded to the Procurator Fiscal, indication that he should continue.

"To repeat then, Mr Livsey; do you believe Mr Walsh would have been able to see the defendant?"

"No. No I don't believe he would have been able to see him at all."

"Thank you Mr Livsey. Now, considering the earlier part of the evening; you went for a meal at an Indian Restaurant with Mr Walsh. Do you recollect seeing the defendant at that restaurant?"

"No."

"And you went to a pub afterwards; did you have much to drink there?"

"No, Jackson had a couple of pints; I had coke as I was expecting to drive."

"And while I appreciate that the pub was probably busy, I have to ask if you recollect seeing the defendant in that pub."

"No, not that I remember."

"Thank you, Mr Livsey; that will be all just now." The Procurator Fiscal sat, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Aaron took a deep breath; that had been the easy part, the part where no one was trying to trip him up, to make him appear unsure, a liar.

The defence counsel stood, looked down at the papers spread on the desk in front of him, took a moment touching them, moving them, heightening the anticipation, the dread. Eventually he looked up at Aaron, meeting his eyes, challenging.

"Mr Livsey; a little background if we may. I understand Mr Walsh is your first boyfriend, is that correct?"

"It is," Aaron answered, surprised at the question.

"And it is a faithful, monogamous relationship?"

"Of course," replied Aaron, a slight edge creeping into his voice.

"And does Mr Walsh enjoy attention from other men?"

"I don't understand what you mean?" Aaron answered, confused.

"I think we will leave this line of questioning," the Sheriff interrupted, his voice chiming against Aaron's answer. "I have already had occasion to warn the defence counsel regarding the direction his questions have taken. Jurors, I must remind you that Mr Walsh and Mr Livsey are witnesses and are not here to answer prurient questions or be subjected to sly allegations concerning their relationship from the defence counsel who, for his own reasons, seems to be intent on discrediting that relationship." He glared at the defence counsel then settled himself back in his imposing chair, nodding that he should continue.

"Mr Livsey," unperturbed, the defence counsel remained smooth. "You have told the court you ate at an Indian Restaurant, had a drink at a pub in the town; can you tell us, were these establishments full, busy, or were they quiet?"

"They were both busy."

"And can you tell us of the weather on the night of the alleged assault?"

"It was raining."

"And at what time of the evening did you leave the pub?"

"I'm not sure; sometime between ten and eleven o'clock I think."

"You are unsure of the time; was it dark?"

"Yes."

"So Mr Livsey; it was dark, it was raining; are you seriously expecting this jury to believe..." his voice began to rise with emotion, with incredulity, as he spoke, "...to believe that you can positively identify this young man as being involved in the alleged assault. A young man you admit you have no recollection of ever seeing before. I put it to you Mr Livsey, that you are mistaken, very much mistaken, and my client is innocent." His voice rang triumphantly around the court room, echoing in the quietness of collective breaths caught in anticipation, waiting.

Aaron looked at the defence counsel, could see his confidence, his certainty, could feel the distain for himself, for Jackson, for their relationship that had bled through all his questions. Breaking his gaze, he looked across to the dock, to the brazen swagger of the still, yet cocky figure standing there.

"One of his front teeth is badly chipped; he has a tattoo winding up from his shoulder, around his neck."

His voice was quiet; his words were deadly, echoing around the silence of the court. His eyes never left those opposite him, locked on his own from the dock. He watched; he could see the moment, the dawning realisation; he watched freedom depart from those eyes.

"Let the jury note and the record show that the defendant has not spoken while Mr Livsey has been in the courtroom and is wearing a suit with collar and tie." Into the stunned silence, the Procurator Fiscal had sprung to his feet, making his point, ensuring that the jury recognised the significance of Aaron's statement.

"Perhaps, Sheriff," he continued, "the Court could ask the defendant to remove his tie and unbutton his shirt. And show the Court that he does indeed have a badly chipped front tooth." There was no gloating in his voice, in the words he spoke; only the rapid, exultant glance, catching Aaron's eyes for the briefest of moments betrayed his pleasure.

"Indeed," agreed the Sheriff. He turned towards the defence counsel, "perhaps you could instruct your client to remove his tie and unbutton his shirt; letting us see his shoulder and neck. And perhaps he could bare his teeth for the jury."

Aaron watched as slowly, interminable slowly, the defendant, the young lad in the dock, unknotted his tie, dragged it from his neck then unbuttoned his shirt. Doing nothing more, he dropped his hands to his side, his eyes to the floor somewhere in front of him.

"Show us your neck, lad." Taking charge of the unexpected situation, the Sheriff spoke to him directly.

Aaron watched as slowly, so slowly his memory was confirmed; as the nightmarish visions that had plagued him for so many months became reality. The inky lines swirling, moving in his dreams, serpent-like, writhing around the neck of the demon that held Jackson, that hurt Jackson, that could have taken Jackson from him was revealed.

There was no surge of sustaining triumph, no sense of victory, of validation; the fear that had been his constant companion, the sudden, unexpected anger of the last minutes, hours; the anger that had given courage to the words he spoke was receding now leaving...leaving emptiness, light-headedness...

Reaching out to him, reaching out to him through the unexpected mist, a hand touching his shoulder, a guiding hand indicating a chair close behind him. He sank into it, a solid reality in a suddenly moving world around him, anchoring him.

"Mr Livsey," the Sheriff spoke to him, regaining his blurring attention. "I believe that neither the Procurator Fiscal nor the defence counsel will have any more questions for you," he paused briefly, glancing to each official named, receiving their unspoken confirmation. "Therefore you may leave the witness stand, and the Court thanks you very much."

Almost without his participation, the scene changed, he was out of the courtroom; it was over; leaning against a wall, his eyes closed, he breathed, tried to breathe steadily, he sipped at the glass of water that had appeared in his hand, the ice cold liquid refreshing him, revitalising reality.

"If you are ready, sir," a quiet voice to one side of him claimed his returning attention.

"Ready?" he questioned.

"To go upstairs, sir, to the public gallery, to your family."

To Jackson! The unspoken words crashed into the mist that still clouded his consciousness, bringing a return of clarity. With every step the light-headedness retreated further, strength returned.

An eternity, a second later, another door; seeing nothing except one head of curls in an indistinct sea of heads; turning.

Across the tiered benches, their eyes met, chocolate brown fixed on vivid blue, held as they drew closer, until at last Aaron slid into the seat next to Jackson, smiles of relief, of welcome touching their lips, their hands slid together, holding, gripping, gripping so hard it was almost painful. Neither cared.

The Sheriff was speaking, out of view, his disembodied voice drifted up to them; ending the proceedings for the day, sending the jury home, remanding the defendant in custody for the night.

Silence; then the clatter of footsteps spreading from the courtroom to the gallery as the realisation that business was over for the day; that they could leave, could reclaim their lives, their evening. Around them, people stood, began whispering, began talking. Beside them, garbled congratulations, words jarring together as Hazel and Chas, Paddy and Cain sought to heap praise upon them.

Aaron heard them, yet heard nothing but Jackson, his quiet, hushed words reaching him only. Standing, not moving, allowing the enormity of the day to absorb them, Jackson reached out, letting the hand not already holding Aaron's slide up his arm. They couldn't have stopped the kiss, couldn't have stopped pulling each other close, couldn't have stopped their lips meeting even had the gallery not been quickly emptying of people. They didn't care, they couldn't care; for that moment all they needed was the closeness of each other.

Their lips met gently at first, as if it was an eternity since their last kiss; an eternity fuelling a hunger they had to feed, to satisfy; a kiss that was both an end and a beginning.

Smiling, they left the building; the first taste of freedom since the summer.

...

_Apologies for the long break since the last chapter, had a bit of a computer disaster, then too much RL over Christmas, but here it is, hope it's okay. G.x_


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"I need chocolate," announced Aaron as they walked along the High Street; already twilight, the early evening darkness made the lights from the shops seem to blaze all the brighter. "I'll catch you up." He swerved into small newsagents, leaving his companions to walk slowly onwards.

Minutes later, he was beside them again; Jackson heard his jogging footsteps, turned, waited.

"There you go," Aaron held out a carrier bag towards him, "take your pick." Already Aaron was munching on a chocolate bar as he spoke.

"Don't you go spoiling your appetites," said Hazel, turning back towards the two lads.

"Aww, leave them be," said Chas, indulgently. "But you'd better eat your dinners, mind," she added, ignoring Hazel's look.

"I'm going for a pint," growled Cain, ignoring the banter, turning into an open doorway of a pub they were passing; the noise of music leaking into the street.

"You could get a pint at the hotel," said Chas, her tone aggrieved.

"I can get another pint at the hotel," said Cain, "but just now, I'm getting one here." Without a backwards glance or invitation, he disappeared from sight.

"Oh come on!" exclaimed Chas, linking her arm through Hazel's, "leave him be, let's get back to the hotel and get a drink there."

It took only a few more minutes for them to walk the length of the High Street; reaching the hotel, Chas and Hazel made a bee-line for the bar.

"You joining us, boys, Paddy?" asked Chas.

"I...er...well maybe just one before dinner," mumbled Paddy.

"I want to go up and change first," said Jackson, "get out of this suit."

"Well make sure you hang them up properly," called Hazel after them, "you don't want to be all crumpled tomorrow."

Making good their escape, they sprinted, laughing, up the two, turning, flights of stairs to the second floor, along the corridor to their room.

Hardly had they closed the door behind them than Jackson drew Aaron to him, letting his hands slide round his hips, moving gently, rubbing against him.

"You were amazing in court," said Jackson, gazing into his eyes, smiling.

"Don't be daft," replied Aaron, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm sure you did fine too."

"No. I didn't. I didn't even know him," said Jackson quietly, dropping his hands, allowing a small gap to grow between them. "I didn't recognise him, hadn't seen him; that's why the Procurator Fiscal kept asking you about him being behind me."

"But that's okay; we could only say what we saw, and hopefully the jury will find him guilty tomorrow..." he let the sentence trail away, not daring to contemplate the unthinkable. "Right! I need to get out of this suit!" He moved, dropping his jacket on the bed, pulling at his tie.

"Hang it up," smirked Jackson, his grin widening as Aaron pulled a face at him even as he bent to retrieve the jacket and find a hanger.

"You seen my black tee shirt?" asked Aaron, a minute later as he rummaged through his bag.

"Draw," replied Jackson, nodding in the direction of the small chest of drawers, as he pulled on jeans and a tee shirt, admiring the view he could see in the mirror.

Wearing only his boxers, Aaron moved to the drawers, dragging first one open then another until he found the tee shirt he wanted. Pulling it on, he flopped down onto the bed, his attention drawn by the rustling of his bag of chocolate. Turning, reaching for it, dipping his hand into the bag, he pulled out the familiar yellow wrapper of the long, twirling, fluted stem of chocolate. Pushing himself back, comfortably against the pillows, he began to unwrap the sweetie.

Realising Jackson was watching him in the mirror; he gave himself up to the delights of eating the chocolate. Closing his eyes, he let his tongue lick upwards the length of the twisted sweetness, licking slowly...once...twice...feeling each curl of chocolate begin to soften under his tongue, flood his mouth with creamy flavour. Long lascivious licks, taking the chocolate deep into his mouth, sucking delicately as he slowly, slowly pulled it out again. Then letting his tongue lick his upper lip, his upper lip sliding over his lower lip, gently biting, savouring every taste; he opened his eyes, meeting Jackson's own eyes, still watching him, reflected in the mirror, letting them hold Jackson's eyes, watching his reaction. Moving slightly, he opened his legs, bent his knees, leaving Jackson in no doubt…letting one hand drop, he began gently touching, rubbing himself, almost absentmindedly, his whole attention seemingly concentrated on eating the chocolate.

Watching him in the mirror, Jackson felt a first tingle of excitement steal through his body, every nerve suddenly come to life, sudden shocks of arousal focusing on his groin. Without taking his eyes from Aaron, he moved his own hand to his cock, rubbing, suddenly needing to rub hard through his jeans.

"You! Oh!... " Jackson groaned slowly, "you're...such...a...tease."

Aaron stopped licking his chocolate. "Thought I was inviting, not teasing. Come here."

Jackson moved the step or two to the bed, sat by Aaron's feet, leaned forward a little, reached out his hand until his fingertips tentatively touched Aaron's cock, already hard beneath his boxers.

Shifting his position, Aaron slid towards Jackson, his legs surrounding him, close enough for Jackson's hand to slide under the loose material, to grasp him firmly, close enough for him to reach Jackson, to touch him, unzip his jeans. Helping him, Jackson raised his arse from the bed, letting his jeans inch over his buttocks, down his legs.

Their bodies close, Aaron offered Jackson the sweet, watching as his lips closed over the melting, twisting column of chocolate.

"Bite," he whispered, holding it steady as Jackson closed his teeth through the soft, outer layer, feeling the subtle change as he pushed into the firmer, deeper layer. Tipping his head back, capturing the chocolate, Jackson smiled as it began to melt in his mouth.

Aaron carefully threw the remnants of the chocolate and its wrapper onto the small bedside table. Sliding his hand behind Jackson's head, he pulled him close, closer until their lips met, tenderly at first, barely touching, then harder, hungrier, Aaron pushed his tongue between Jackson's lips, feeling the slightest, briefest resistance before they parted, allowing him entrance, before his tongue was meeting Jackson's, twisting, dancing with it, sharing the last taste of thick, creamy chocolate lingering in his mouth.

Still kissing, their excitement growing, hands touching, rubbing, harder, faster, then slowing, teasing, prolonging the anticipation, waiting, waiting until they were both close; their hands moving faster, in tandem, their bodies writhing, rolling together across the bed, tumbling the sheets until with gut-wrenching symmetry they came together, hugged close together as the spasms of ecstasy, of delight, united them, then left them spent, momentarily exhausted, lying together in each other's arms. For the moment, nothing mattered.

"We should move," murmured Jackson some time later, two minutes, ten minutes, he wasn't sure. His words contradicted his desires; he would have liked noting more than to lie for the rest of the evening in Aaron's arms, making love to him again, taking longer, taking time. But he knew Hazel and Chas were waiting for them downstairs, clockwatching, counting the minutes, and he wouldn't put it past his mother to come upstairs, to pound on the door, to walk straight in if they hadn't locked it.

He leapt from the bed, startling Aaron, as the thought entered his mind, the image burned suddenly, dreadfully into his imagination; his mother, Aaron's mother, both of them catching them after so obviously...so obviously...

"Come on! Move! Get your jeans on!" There was an urgency now to his voice, an edge.

"What's wrong?" asked Aaron, bemused, lying content, a smile of satisfaction playing across his lips.

"We've been ages..."

"So?"

"So who's waiting for us downstairs, and who might not be content waiting downstairs."

"Oh shite! Never thought of that!" exclaimed Aaron, following Jackson's lead, leaping from the bed, hurrying to find his jeans.

In a very few minutes they were downstairs, facing the bar, stealing themselves for an evening with Chas, Hazel, Paddy and Cain, if he returned from the pub before closing.

"You two took your time," proclaimed Hazel as they walked to their table. "Your pints'll be flat."

"Had a couple of things to do first," replied Jackson casually.

"Oh?" questioned Chas curiously.

"Yeah, it's sorted now though," added Aaron quickly. "Are we eating soon or do we have to wait for Cain? I'm starving."

"How can you be hungry after eating all that chocolate?" asked Hazel, turning as Jackson coughed, spluttered, splashed his pint on the table.

"I'm a growing lad," Aaron grinned back at her, aware of Jackson smirking beside him, his composure regained.

"Hummmm," grunted Hazel, sceptically, glancing between the two lads, sensing some joke between them, fairly sure she shouldn't pursue it.

The evening passed, they were cheerful company; after the apprehension of the previous evening, after the long, tense day in court, as difficult for those waiting, helplessly watching as for Jackson and Aaron giving their evidence, there was a sense of relief, a sense that it really would soon be over, yet these feelings were still held in check, they couldn't celebrate, it wasn't quite over yet. It wasn't mentioned, wasn't spoken of, but the thought was hanging over them all evening; they would be sure of nothing until the following day.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The public gallery seemed busier as they slid their way along the benches; finding a position that gave them the clearest view of the court below, empty as yet apart from some of the familiar suited officials. Aaron could feel a knot of apprehension, anxiety, twisting in his stomach; surely, surely they had done enough yesterday to make a guilty verdict a certainty. But what if they hadn't? The thought gnawed at him, had given him no peace overnight and now it was close; so close. He would have like to have held Jackson's hand, gripped it reassuringly, but he couldn't, not surrounded by all these people, these strangers in this hostile place.

Suddenly a silence began to spread through the gallery; a tense silence full of anticipation spreading upwards from the courtroom below, infecting all the spectators in the gallery, craning their necks downwards, down until they could see what was happening. Below, the jury were returning, taking their seats in the long benches; in the dock, the defendant was returned from his night on remand. The Procurator Fiscal and defence counsel; all the players in the drama returning until finally, with a shuffling of feet as the court stood, the Sheriff returned.

The Sheriff began speaking, summing up the evidence from the day before, reminding the jury of their obligations. It seemed that hardly had they all taken their places than they were leaving again; the jury dismissed to consider their verdict. The waiting watchers in the gallery left to wander restlessly, impatiently, to the waiting rooms.

The coffee machine was working overtime, churning out hot but tasteless teas and lattes, cappuccinos and espressos; Cain stood at the machine, feeding in coins, passing the corrugated cardboard mugs full to the brim of steaming liquid amongst them.

"How long do you think they'll be?" whispered Paddy, keeping his voice low, conscious that some of those waiting for news may be on the opposite side of the legal divide from themselves.

"Surely it won't be too long, not after yesterday," replied Hazel, in tones far less subtle than Paddy.

Cain glared at her. "Keep it down Hazel! Some of these folk might be with the little toe rag in the dock!" he hissed.

"Sorry!" exclaimed Hazel, looking around her, challenging any of the other occupants of the room to dare to contradict her.

"But she's right, isn't she?" whispered Chas. "After Aaron's evidence, they couldn't find him not guilty. Could they?"

Cain looked at her, raised one eyebrow questioningly; they could count on nothing until the foreman of the jury had delivered the verdict.

Jackson nodded to Aaron then moved, not far, just eased his way between people standing, aimlessly nursing their corrugated mugs.

"Sorry, they were doing my head in," said Jackson, leaning against a wall. "And just being here...even though we're not down there, in the dock; it feels like we're the ones on trial."

"I know," Aaron replied, "it's like eyes are watching us all the time," he glanced behind him as he spoke, almost expecting everyone in the room to be staring at them.

"Wish we were on own," said Jackson, gazing down into the swirling brown liquid in his cup, "could do with a hug."

Aaron looked at Jackson, hated see the uncertainty, the defeat; he was usually so strong, so certain. Making a decision, Aaron touched him briefly on the shoulder, getting his attention.

"Come on," he said, "follow me!"

Pushing their way back through the crowded room, Aaron led them towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Chas asked as they passed.

"To the loo, if that's alright with you," growled Aaron without stopping.

"Both of you?" questioned Chas as they passed her, saying nothing more.

Reaching the corridor, it was less crowded although there were still people milling aimlessly about, waiting. Seconds later they pushed through the door into the gents, ignoring the men standing, doing the necessary, Aaron gave Jackson a gently push towards an unoccupied cubical.

"This is mad," whispered Jackson, as Aaron shut the door behind him, leant back against it, pulled Jackson, unresisting, towards him. "Do you remember why we're here? And you come right in here with me?"

"We can't let them win, Jackson," said Aaron quietly, hugging him. "That's what today is all about. And I don't give a toss about them out there...we just need a minute."

Jackson let his head rest on Aaron's shoulder, content for the moment to forget that they will soon have to leave the cubical, content for the moment to relax, to feel Aaron's strong arms holding him, lending him strength, to try and reassure himself that soon, soon it would be over, whatever the outcome.

For a moment, Aaron was content just to hold Jackson, to hug him, content to feel him held secure in his arms, feel his familiar body pressed closed against him, the smell of his hair, the feel of the soft hairs on his face tickling against his neck as he moved his head a little.

For a moment they stood unmoving; then Aaron slid one hand upwards, letting his fingers briefly rub the back of Jackson's neck, feeling the tension in his muscles, then running his fingers through his short curls before tilting Jackson's face towards him, searching out his lips with his own. Their kiss was tender; the reassurance of a brief moment of intimacy when nothing mattered but each other. Until they were interrupted.

The main door into the gents crashed noisily open, making them jump. Second later a fist was banging loudly on the cubical door.

"Aaron! Jackson! Get out here now, the jury are back." Cain's low, urgent voice reached them.

Breaking apart, moving, Aaron eased the door open, squeezing out, Cain was waiting for them, glaring around him, daring, just daring anyone to utter one wrong word.

Trying not to notice the eyes upon them, Aaron stalked from the gents without waiting for Cain or Jackson; he hadn't felt at all awkward walking in to the cubicle, his need to comfort Jackson pushing everything else from his mind, but walking out; that was different; now he just needed to get away; to get back to the public gallery, back to the end of his nightmare.

Seconds behind Aaron, Cain and Jackson caught up with him in the corridor. Going through the door into the gallery, they could already hear voices drifting upwards from the court below. Almost holding his breath with the effort of being quiet, Aaron moved towards their seats, slid in beside Chas, grateful for her reassuring smile of greeting.

Time seemed to have slowed down, stopped almost.

"Foreman of the jury, have you reached a verdict that you all agree on?"

Each word was an eternity as Aaron listened. Without realising, his hand moved towards Jackson, sitting next to him; without taking his eyes from what he could see of the court, he reached out, his fingers rising over the muscular swell of Jackson's leg, feeling, searching for the comfort of his hand. He felt fingers slide into his own; briefly taking his eyes from the scene unfolding below him, he looked at Jackson. Catching the movement, Jackson looked back at him, smiled, encouragingly, reassuringly.

"Yes, we have."

"And do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?"

Aaron bit his lip; he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. This was it; the moment he had been waiting for since the summer, since the attack, since the police told them they had taken suspects into custody. This should be the end of the nightmares that had haunted him for so many months, if only the next word was...

"Guilty!"

All around him; gasps of breath, taken in so sharply, some in relief at the verdict, just one or perhaps two, in despair.

Tighter now, Jackson gripped his hand tighter; he would have like to have turned, hugged him, but for the moment, returning the squeeze of his hand would have to suffice, wordlessly sharing their delight, their relief.

The Sheriff was still speaking, but Aaron was hardly listening to him; so great was the relief flooding through his body, an almost physical light-headedness that travelled from his head to his feet.

Suddenly everyone was standing, moving, beginning to file out of the bench seats; beside him, Chas gave a gentle push against his shoulder, gaining his attention, indicating that he needed to move.

Out into the corridor, caught up in the general swirl of people heading towards the exit, the desire to escape, be free of the oppressive atmosphere of the court was almost overwhelming.

"Aaron, Jackson," Paddy was behind them, but reached forward, just able to tap Jackson on the shoulder, making him stop. "Someone's calling you," he explained.

Pushing her way through to catch up with them, Angela MacKenzie hurried towards them.

"Can I have a quick word, Mr Livsey, Mr Walsh? Let's just pop in here," she indicated a door a few steps in front of them.

She led them into yet another faceless office, or maybe it was one they had already been in, Aaron couldn't be sure.

"It was the right verdict," she began, "but I'm sorry the Sheriff didn't pass sentence straight away,"

"Didn't he?" said Jackson, bemused. "I don't think I heard anything after the foreman said 'guilty'"

"He's going to wait to sentence him until he has heard the evidence in the other cases; the lads who are pleading guilty."

"How long will that take?" asked Jackson.

"Oh I imagine he will hear all the cases this afternoon; with the guilty pleas already lodged, it is more a case of hearing the evidence to judge the severity of the sentence.

"And do we have to be in court for that?" asked Aaron.

"No, that is what I wanted to tell you. If you can let me have mobile numbers for you, the Procurator Fiscal is quite happy for you to be outwith the court, however he would prefer you to be in the town, should you be needed."

"That's brilliant!" exclaimed Aaron, a feeling of relief washing over him.

"Then we can call you, either just before the sentencing, if you want to be in court for that, or afterwards, to tell you the sentences."

"I think I would like to be there for the sentencing," said Jackson thoughtfully. "I don't particularly want to sit through the presentation of the evidence, but to be there for the end, yes...I want that."

"That's fair enough," agreed Angela. "Write your numbers down for me and I'll phone you when I think it's getting close; give you what, fifteen, twenty minutes notice."

"Yeah that'll be fine," said Jackson, writing both their mobile numbers on the pad of paper she handed him. "Don't suppose we'll be that far away."

Angela nodded, trying to reassure them. "It'll be fine; they'll get a custodial sentence, I'm sure. If you okay with that, I'll show you out."

Minutes later they were outside; seeing the others waiting, they made their way towards them.

"Alright love!" called Hazel, seeing their approach. "What was that all about?"

"They didn't sentence him; they'll do that this afternoon, with the others," replied Jackson.

"Yes, I know; that's what the Sheriff said after the verdict came in; weren't you listening?"

"Apparently not," Jackson pulled a face at his mother. "We don't have to be in court for the next cases; they'll phone us just before the sentencing."

"So, lunch then is it?" asked Hazel.

"There's a pub just along the street," said Paddy, pointing. "The menu looked okay."

"You go ahead," said Jackson, "think we could do with a bit of air first," he looked at Aaron, getting his nod of agreement.

Cain and Hazel moved away, began walking down the street towards the pub Paddy indicated.

"Aaron!" Chas called him back as he and Jackson began to move away. "I was going to go back to court this afternoon, to see them..." she hesitated, "...to see them getting what they deserve for what they did to you and Jackson. Are you okay with that?"

Aaron looked at her for a moment; he knew what she was saying, what she was asking. That she would hear the intimate details of the attack, details that he had not told her, did he mind that? He thought for a moment, then shook his head.

"No, it's fine mam, just..." he paused, "...just don't talk about it to me afterwards, okay?" He looked at her, biting his lip, waiting for her agreement.

"Of course, son," she said quietly, nodding. "Right!" she turned, "come on Paddy, lead me to the pub!"

Aaron and Jackson watched them go.

"D'you want anything to eat?" asked Aaron

"Not really, you?" Jackson turned the question back to Aaron; he shook his head. "Fancy a walk then?"

"Yeah, that'd be good, blow the smell of that place away."

They turned; away from the Sheriff's Court, away from the direction taken by Hazel and Cain, Paddy and Chas, away from the town, towards the last few hours of their nightmare.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

It was cold, but not bitter as by mutual, unspoken agreement, they walked in the opposite direction from Cain and Hazel, Paddy and Chas, each footstep taking them a little further from the Sheriff's Court. The road took them away from the town centre too, past a large, almost empty car park until they were following the shore of the loch. Walking kept them warm; the weak midday winter sun was bright but gave little heat. Guest houses lined one side of the street, overlooking the loch with views of the distant, snow topped hills; between the road and the shore, gardens, brown and bedraggled in their winter hibernation. Further; a low red-brick building, boats pulled high on the shore to over-winter, a line of wooden benches set to get the best of the view.

Jackson flung himself onto the first bench, leaning back, closing his eyes, enjoying the brightness of the light through his eyelids.

"Should have brought a picnic," he said.

"Yeah, right," replied Aaron, "and sit here shivering our bits off."

"Spoil sport," responded Jackson lazily.

"Daft bugger," retorted Aaron, looking across at him, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. "You okay?"

"I am actually," said Jackson, sitting further up, opening his eyes, looking at Aaron. "The court stuff is almost over and tomorrow we're on holiday. Alone."

"Yeah, that'll be so good," agreed Aaron, "although they haven't been bad, have they, the oldies."

"Better not let your mum hear you calling her old, I kinda like you the way you are and would hate to see the damage she could inflict on you," teased Jackson.

"She'd have to catch me first though," smirked Aaron.

"Well I wouldn't like to bet that she couldn't," said Jackson. "Then you would be mince, sunshine!"

"You're probably right," agreed Aaron cheerfully. "But tomorrow they'll be heading south and we'll be going north. I'm looking forward to having you to myself for a whole week!"

"Oh you are, are you?" Jackson looked at him, his dark eyebrows riding quizzically high on his forehead. "Got any plans then?"

"Thought I'd enjoy fucking you senseless at least twice a day. You?"

"Oh I brought a couple of good books to read, 'War and Peace' and 'Learn to Knit in Twelve Easy Lessons'."

"Ha ha, funny man!"

Across the short distance between them, they grinned at each other; with the end of the court case so close, with their peace about to be restored to them, already they felt easier, lighter in spirits.

Aaron could feel the dark chocolate eyes fixed on him, drawing him in, he would have liked to lean across the short space, to kiss Jackson, there and then; he bit his lip, even though there was no one in sight, he couldn't do it, not here, not in this town.

"You want to get something to eat?" asked Aaron, forcing their gaze apart.

"Sounds like a plan," agreed Jackson, "seeing as it seems I need to keep my strength up."

"Oh you so do," Aaron smiled at him, enjoying the light hearted banter.

They began to wander back the way they had come, towards the town, into the High Street. Ignoring the pubs with their lunch menus on display, they went into a small cafe, ordering a bowl of pasta each, with garlic bread to share.

They lingered over their meal, comfortably tucked at the back of the cafe, their seats looked between the other tables, out to the street, enabling them to watch the world go by as they ate.

Jackson's mobile phone, which for an hour or more had lain silently on the table, suddenly chirped into life; its familiar tune disguising the unfamiliar number displayed on the screen. They both looked at it, knowing. Knowing without having to answer it what it meant, the summons it heralded.

"You gonna answer that?" Aaron asked quietly.

"Yes. No. Dunno." Jackson prevaricated. "Now it's here; I'm not sure."

"Thought you wanted to see it through to the end?"

"I did...I do...it's just..." Jackson bit his lip, hesitating. "I'm scared."

Aaron shook his head. "No, we're doing this." He picked up the phone, answered it, identifying himself to the called at the other end, expecting Jackson. He listened, speaking only briefly.

"It was a message from Angela, about half an hour," he said.

For a few moments they sat, saying nothing; the fluttering of apprehension possessing them. They had been through so much; it was hard to believe it was almost over, that the end was only minutes away.

"We might as well just go then," said Jackson, taking out his wallet to pay their bill.

The cafe wasn't really very far from the Sheriff's Court; it took them only a few minutes to walk back to the imposing, red-brick building. Walking in, nodding to the official on the door, they found their way to the public gallery; sliding in to the benches near the door, making no attempt to work their way to the front of the gallery where they could see the backs of Chas and Hazel, Paddy and Cain, listening intently.

The Sheriff was speaking, summing up; nerves suddenly flooding through his body, Aaron sat perched on the front of the bench, listening intently yet trying not to look down into the court; he wasn't sure if he wanted to see those faces yet. The faces of their attackers standing in the harsh light of the court, waiting. It was enough that he had seen one, but all of them, together. From the corner of his eye he was aware of Jackson, now that he was here, suffering no such qualms, but staring intently down, his face registering no emotion, yet looking hard, rigidly controlling the memories, the pain.

Not caring now, just needing the comfort of his touch, Aaron slid his hand into Jackson's, holding tight, clinging as if his very life depended on it. Braver now, he craned his neck, looked down, and saw for the first time, the faces of the men, boys really, who had hurt them so much; whose fingers had made the bruises that had discoloured his body, bruises that for days had shown where other, unwelcome, hands had touched him, bruises that made him feel violated.

He looked once, then looked away; once was enough; he didn't want the detail of their faces imprinted on his mind any more than the shadowy features they already were. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on the words the Sheriff was saying. Closer now, the moment they had been waiting for, needed to hear; the sentences.

His heart was pounding; his breathing sounded loud, laboured to his own ears, as straining, he struggled to concentrate, to hear every word, to hear the few words that mattered.

A name! Three years!

Another! Three more years!

Again!

And again!

It was over in seconds, minutes, each name, each sentence the same; three years, thirty-six months.

Standing, Jackson touched Aaron briefly on the shoulder; he had seen, he had heard the sentences; he had seen and heard enough, now he just needed to get out, get away. Quietly they left the gallery, regained the High Street, walking quickly, silently, back towards their hotel.

"Pint?" suggested Jackson as they walked through the revolving door into the hotel.

"Several," agreed Aaron. They headed towards the bar; open but empty. Their first pints, cold and refreshing, hardly touched the sides as they downed them quickly. Their second, they took with them to their room.

"Three years; it's a long time," said Aaron quietly, reflectively, as he stripped, dropping his suit, shirt and tie on the bed.

"They won't serve that though," replied Jackson reasonably.

"But it's still a long time," said Aaron thoughtfully, pulling on jeans, a jumper.

"For what they did to you," Jackson moved to Aaron, stood in front of him, slid his arms round his waist. "No, it's not too long. Remember how you felt, how you could hardly bare to look at yourself, how black and blue you were with the bruises from the battering they gave you. No, it's not too long at all." He pulled Aaron closer to him, close enough that their hips were pushing against each other. Moving his hand higher, he cupped Aarons face with his hands, leant in, found his lips with his own, kissed him, gently, tenderly, reassuringly.

Responding, Aaron kissed him back, happy to lose himself to Jackson lips and tongue, teasing, exploring, gentle and sensual; they tumbled to lie on the bed, relishing the delicate intimacy of each kiss.

"I really...need...to get out...of this suit," mumbled Jackson, unwilling to break away from Aaron's embrace, from his mouth, his kisses, his hands caressing him gently, making no demands or suggestions, only enjoying the moment.

In the end, it was Aaron who pulled away, touching his fingertips to his lips, feeling them tingle, throb; running his tongue around his mouth, across his lips, he could still taste Jackson.

Leaving the bed, Jackson took off his suit, glad finally to be rid of it. Pulling on jeans, a top, he hung the hated clothes on a hanger, then moved to do the same with Aaron's, all the while aware of his eyes on him, watching him.

"I'm gonna take these along to mum, she can take them back down the road with her, no point us lugging them with us. And I'll grab another couple of pints on the way back, yeah?"

"Sound," said Aaron, reaching for the TV remote, he began channel hopping as Jackson gathered the two hangered suits.

Minutes later Jackson was outside the room his mother was sharing with Chas; he knew it was the right room, he knew the room number, he could hear his mother's voice, her words unclear, her tone worried and comforting in turn. What stopped him from barging in, what stopped him from knocking, waiting, was the sound of sobbing, anguished and incoherent.

He stood, listening; between the sobs, gasps of laughter, unreal, almost hysterical laughter. He stood, unsure what to do; yet he must have made some noise, given some indication that he was there; suddenly the door flung open. His mother, her face lined with worry.

"Jackson!" she exclaimed. "I...did you...come in!" Reaching towards him, she almost swept him from his feet, pulling him into the room.

"Chas is a bit upset," she continued once the door was shut. "The court, this afternoon, the evidence...it was very..."

"It was awful," wailed Chas. "I hadn't realised...I didn't know they were going to go into such detail. About the injuries, what they did to you...I didn't know..." her voice trailed away to a whisper.

"They had pictures too," added Hazel, matter of factly. "She ran after the Procurator Fiscal when it was all over, demanded to see them."

"I know," Chas sobbed, "I know you told me he was black and blue, but to see the pictures from the hospital, to see what they had done to him..." she left the sentence unfinished as she took a hefty swallow from the glass in her hand.'

She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to pull herself together, trying to control the rage, the distress that were fighting for dominance within her.

"And you, love; both of you so hurt. I'm so sorry. And now? Are you both, well, you know... better?" She took another drink, leaving the glass almost empty.

"Vodka," said Hazel drily. "And not her first."

"Have a drink with us Jackson," suddenly brightening, Chas nodded to Hazel encouragingly. "Tell him Hazel. Here! I'll pour him a drink anyway," she reached for the bottle.

"No you're fine, thanks," replied Jackson awkwardly. "We're on the lager; I'm supposed to be fetching another couple of pints. Just wanted to drop these off, for you to take back down the road," he indicated the two suits, dropping them on one of the beds.

"Just have a small one, son," said Hazel under her breath, "just to help me out here; she was in a terrible state just before you arrived."

"Well, just a small one then," agreed Jackson reluctantly. "No! No a small one I said," he exclaimed, trying to grab the bottle from Chas's hand as she poured a generous measure into a mug.

"Awww Jackson, that is only a little one. C'mon, have a drink with me and your mum, we're almost family these days," she drained half her glass as she finished speaking. "I am almost your mother-in-law," she spoke slowly, deliberately now, keeping her words controlled through a haze of vodka.

"Ohhh Jackson! How is Aaron now?" she continued, giggling. "I mean how is he really, how are the two of you? Are you happy? Is he happy?"

"Err, yes, I think so," replied Jackson, rather bemused. Not completely sober himself now, the vodka on top of the lager seemed to be heading straight for his head.

"Don't ask the lad questions like that," interrupted Hazel, "you'll embarrass him. And yourself."

"But if I don't ask him now, I never will," Chas wailed.

"Ask me what?" Jackson felt confused, muddled, he wasn't sure if it was just the beer, the vodka.

"We were wondering," began Chas.

"You were wondering," interrupted Hazel.

"No," said Chas emphatically, "we were wondering, if everything was alright between you and Aaron...now...you know...in the bedroom...after all this?"

Jackson felt the colour flaring to his cheeks, burning; they were asking about their sex life. His mother! His boyfriend's mother!

Suddenly the two women burst into giggles, the mood as different from when he entered the room a few minutes earlier as it could possibly be.

"See, I told you he wouldn't say anything," chuckled Hazel.

"Aww Jackson, I bet you're good in bed," Chas giggled.

"That's my son you're talking about!" said Hazel in mock indignation, fighting against the laughter bubbling from within her.

"I bet Aaron's good too, isn't he? Hot! And that's my son I'm talking about," still giggling, yet with a brittle edge to her laughter, her eyes full of unshed tears, Chas collapsed against Hazel.

"I think I'm just going to go now," said Jackson awkwardly, leaving his empty glass on the table; he began moving towards the door.

"Oh Hazel!" As quickly as they had come, the giggles, the laughter had left Chas; the tears caught in her voice stopped Jackson in his tracks. But she didn't know he was there any more, consumed by her own anguish.

"Oh Hazel, we could have lost them both, they could have been killed. Aaron could have been killed before I ever had a chance to know him! I still don't know him, not really!" The sound of sobbing, of a heart breaking, filled the room.

He had to move, he couldn't listen to their raw distress anymore; he didn't understand where it had come from, he didn't understand that it had been there for months, hidden, controlled. Until today.

Leaving, pulling the door closed behind him, he leaned against the wall, trying to steady his breathing. It was quiet now behind him, but he had to get away, had to get back to Aaron, had to try and think of this as a dream, a nightmare, soon over; but one he would probably not be able to forget in a long while.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

"Thought you were getting more pints?" questioned Aaron as Jackson came into their room, flung himself onto the bed, buried his face into Aaron's chest. "Hey! What's up?

"Oh it's your mum," mumbled Jackson, snuggling deeper as Aaron's arms came round him, hugged him.

"Oh what's she done now," said Aaron, sounding exasperated.

"She's not really done anything," Jackson moved until he was lying more comfortably in Aaron's arms. "Apparently the evidence this afternoon was pretty graphic, then she demanded to see the photos, got herself all upset and has been hitting the vodka since they got back."

"So she's drunk again, then?"

"Yeah, but it's more than that; she was really upset, devastated. Said you might have been killed before she ever really knew you."

Aaron looked down at Jackson. "Seriously?"

"She was all over the place, crying and everything, then it was just…wow! She totally changed, giggling, laughing," Jackson paused, thinking. "Actually, I think she was really hysterical," he said slowly, "like she didn't really know what she was saying. Then she asked about our sex life!"

"She what?" Aaron exclaimed, pushing himself upright. "She's no right! And I'm going to tell her so!"

"No, leave it, Aaron, at least just for a bit," Jackson put a restraining hand on Aaron's chest, pushing him back on the bed. "She was in a bad way; I doubt she'll even remember. Let mum sort her out just now."

"Okay, but she better not go off on one later."

Jackson shook his head. "No, it wasn't like that; you didn't see her. It was awful."

For a moment, they both fall silent, lying together in the bed, each lost in their own thoughts; Jackson trying to push the uncomfortable memories from his mind, Aaron turning over what Jackson had told him, equating the emotional wreck in the picture Jackson had drawn for him to the loud, mouthy woman who was his mother.

"Shall we go down to the bar for these pints then?" asked Aaron eventually.

"We could go down; not sure about the pint," said Jackson. "Chas poured me a vodka; a large one. Think I could do with something to eat before I have much more to drink."

Aaron slid off the bed, turning, reached his hand out, pulling Jackson up.

"So you're drunk then are you," he teased.

"Not yet," smiled Jackson, "but I think I might be later on. You mind?"

"Nope! I'll be there with you!" grinned Aaron. "I suppose we're celebrating, aren't we?" His voice was suddenly ironic as he said the words; they came from his mouth, his mind, but he didn't, truly, believe them.

Picking up on his mood, Jackson nodded. "I guess we are," he raised his eyebrows. "Not sure that that is the right word for it though."

They made their way downstairs, passing the corridor that led to the room shared by Chas and Hazel; both of them glancing down the corridor as if they expected something; some noise, some door flung wide, some sign. All was quiet.

In the bar, Cain and Paddy already occupied a table; almost full pints standing in front of them. Nodding to them, acknowledging them, Aaron and Jackson made their way to the bar, ordered their drinks, then lifting their glasses, joined them at the table.

"You should have told us," began Cain aggressively. "You should have told her; she shouldn't have found out that way."

Paddy shifted uncomfortably in his seat; he hadn't been so surprised, so shocked, at the catalogue of injuries described in court. He had been at the hospital; had seen some of the bruises. He had known; he had told them they should have said more to Cain and Chas. But no; they had wanted to draw a cloak of invisibility about themselves, their injuries, their bruises; they had said very little.

Neither Aaron nor Jackson said anything now; there really wasn't anything they could say.

"You should have said…something," continued Cain. "I know! I know you told us a little; but it wasn't enough."

"Well, to be fair," Paddy began, rather hesitantly, "they didn't know it was all going to come out in court today. And they weren't even in there when it did."

"That doesn't matter!" Cain snapped at him before turning back to Aaron. "She's your mam, and I know it's not always been great between you, but..." Cain paused, took a breath, trying to calm down. "It would have been easier for her, hearing it from you, that's all."

"Look, I'm sorry, right?" Aaron rubbed his hand across his eyes, his brow, over his short hair. "There's nothing I can do about it now…well is there?"

Cain glared at him across the table. For a moment, for a moment that stretched uncomfortably onwards, no one said anything.

"Erm...maybe...shall we get something to eat then?" asked Paddy.

"Best idea I've heard for a while, Paddy," said Jackson quickly.

"Bar meal here or the works in the dining room?" asked Paddy, grateful for Jackson's response, his agreement, his help in distracting Aaron and Cain.

"Bar meal here would do me," said Jackson, looking questioningly at Aaron, at Cain.

"Yeah, whatever," grunted Aaron.

"Cain?" asked Paddy.

"Here's fine," he growled, still looking crossly at Aaron. "Oi! Go and get menus, and get another round in." He flung a twenty across the table at him.

Aaron pushed is chair back from the table with obvious bad grace; Jackson stood to follow him.

"No, leave him," said Cain, stopping Jackson in his tracks. "He needs to talk to her, properly."

"I saw her earlier," said Jackson slowly. "She was...she was a mess."

"She needs to know he is alright," said Cain.

Jackson nodded. "I'll make sure he speaks to her."

"Do that," said Cain, cutting off anything else he might have been going to say as Aaron brought the first of the drinks over to the table.

A few minutes later, they were engrossed in studying the menus; "Jackson! Aaron!" Paddy's voice was quiet, his eyes, the single nod of his head directed their attention towards the door. Hazel and Chas were walking towards the table.

Looking at his mother, Jackson raised his eyebrows, questioningly; she inclined her head, oh so slightly, her lips moving, reassuring.

Looking at Chas, Jackson could see behind her bright, brittle smile; could see that she had carefully renewed her makeup, hiding the signs of her earlier emotion.

"Not starting without us, were you?" questioned Hazel, her voice cheerful, a glimpse of truth in the lines, more clearly visible than usual, about her eyes.

Jackson passed menus to Chas and his mother. "I'll get you a drink?" he said, making it a question rather than a statement.

"Fresh orange and lemonade for me please," said Hazel. "Had a bit to drink in the room," she nodded conspiratorially around the group, "feeling a bit dodgy just now."

Her words didn't fool Jackson; he didn't think they would fool Aaron; he suspected they wouldn't fool Cain or Paddy either.

"I'll keep you company, so the same for me!" said Chas quickly, sitting in the chair Paddy vacated as he moved to pull two more chairs to their table.

Jackson moved to go to the bar and found his mother at his shoulder, accompanying him. He looked at her, not voicing the question that was uppermost in her mind.

"Yes, she remembers asking," said Hazel briefly. "And is mortified! Although I tried to tell her she wasn't as up front as she was."

"Oh!" said Jackson, noncommittally.

"Look. She cried some more, threw up...quite spectacularly...then slept for a few minutes. Hopefully, by tomorrow it will all be a bit less...well...just a bit less," said Hazel, by way of explanation.

"Cain says Aaron needs to talk to her," said Jackson shortly.

"He does, but maybe not tonight."

Jackson shook his head. "No, it needs to be tonight, while it is still raw, relevant. Tomorrow is a new day; we're on holiday, out of here, you're away home. It'll be too late then."

"Well, maybe you're right there, son," agreed Hazel, reflecting upon his words.

"If nothing happens, I'll try and work out how to give then some space later," said Jackson, rubbing his hand over the soft hairs on his chin.

"You're a good boy, you are," said Hazel comfortably, reassuringly.

They made their way back to the table; the meal, the evening passed with some tension, some laughter. Cain glared and growled, Aaron sulked under the critical eyes of his uncle, Chas made awkward, brittle conversation; talking to cover her distress leaving Paddy, Jackson and Hazel to struggle for a normal evening, covering the cracks with jokes, with banter, with relief at the outcome of the day.

When Chas excused herself, Jackson kicked Aaron under the table, none too gently; a heavy hint that he should follow her.

Scrabbling his chair back from the table, he trailed her from the bar, aware of four pairs of eyes boring into his back as he disappeared down the corridor that housed the loos.

"Mam!" he called, attracting her attention as she was about to push open the door to the ladies.

Hearing him, she turned; the same brittle smile painted on to her face that she had worn all evening.

"Aaron!"

"Mam, I need to talk to you," he said, catching up with her. "How about we go upstairs?" He led the way up to the second floor, to the room he was sharing with Jackson.

"I need to pee first," announced Chas as soon as they entered the room, delaying the moment; the need to talk.

Aaron moved around the room, flicking the switch on the kettle, tearing the top off two sachets of coffee, tipping the contents into two mugs. By the time Chas emerged, the coffee was made; he handed her a mug as she perched on the bed.

Unsure now, where to begin, Aaron wandered round the room, nursing his coffee but not drinking it.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually. "About this afternoon, about you hearing so much; the pictures. I didn't think."

"No! No you didn't," Chas flashed back harshly. "How did you think I would feel? Hearing what they had done to you."

"I didn't know they would say so much about it!" He stopped speaking, struggling to control the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you more about it," he said, moving to sit beside her on the bed. "Back in the summer, my head was a mess; by the time we got home, the bruises were beginning to fade, I just didn't want to relive every detail. But I should have told you. I'm sorry."

"No, it's my fault..." began Chas, her anger faded as quickly as it came.

"No mam," Aaron interrupted, "not everything is your fault. That day, when we got back, in the gents at the Woolie when Jackson showed you my bruises; I could have said more then, instead of talking about the past." He twisted the mug of coffee between his fingers, unheeded.

"I hate the thought of those...those louts...touching you, hurting you. What they could have done to you," said Chas, the quiet anguish plain in her voice.

"But they didn't mam. Just a few bruises, which, I admit, took me a while to get my head round; but it was nothing worse," his lips curled into a wry smile even as his eyes stayed fixed on his mug. "And it's over now."

"Is it?" questioned Chas. "Can you really forget about it?"

"I'll never forget about it mam," Aaron said, not looking at her, his tone reflective, "never. But I'm not going to let them win; I'm not going to be scared by them, change my life for them. I'm not." Finally he looked at her, met her eyes.

"When did you grow up so much?" wondered Chas, more to herself than to Aaron.

Aaron said nothing; there was nothing he could say; he didn't feel grown up, since the attack he had had to fight the nightmares, he worried every time he walked passed a group of lads in the streets of Hotton. But he couldn't let them win, ever.

"And now? Are you alright now?" she asked.

"I'm fine, mam, honestly, no scars, not on my body at least!" he gave a wry half laugh.

"And Jackson?" she asked. "Are you happy with Jackson? Is he good to you?"

"Oh mam! Yes I'm happy with him, and he is so good to me. God knows why!"

"Because he cares for you, that's easy to see," she smiled, gently, slightly hesitantly, at her son. "Come on, let's go back down stairs before they send out a search party."

Returning to the bar, four pairs of eyes bored into them as they walked towards the table; four pairs of eyes trying to read them; discern their demeanour, their mood, what might have been said. Four pairs of eyes; relieved as they smiled at each other.

It wasn't long before the evening drew to a close; exhausted with the emotion of the last few days, Aaron was glad to escape back to their room.

Quickly to bed, naked under the covers, he lay on his front, Jackson's arm trapped under his shoulders, Jackson's fingers trailing lightly across the skin he could reach. Aaron's arm lay lightly on Jackson's chest.

"I am so looking forward to tomorrow," murmured Aaron lazily.

"Mmm, me too," answered Jackson. "All on our own in the chalet."

"Who knows what we might be doing," teased Aaron, letting his fingers slide across Jackson's chest until they found a nipple, gently circling it, the very tips of his fingers gliding over it, feeling it grow under his feather light touch.

He moved slightly, turned his head until his mouth, his tongue found the nipple he had already begun arousing; very gently, very lightly he let his tongue flick over the raised bud, sucking, then letting it slide out of his firm lips, only to capture it again, to begin again. Moving his hand then across Jackson's chest, finding its partner, his fingers gently circled, rubbed before growing braver, more demanding, pinching, feeling Jackson begin to move, to squirm beside him.

Feeling his own excitement growing, he brushed his teeth against Jackson's nipple, sucking gently again, then nipping, biting, not hard, just enough to make Jackson groan with pleasure, demanding more.

"You...are...so...wicked," gasped Jackson.

"I am," agreed Aaron, pausing for a moment. "And you are so going to enjoy me having my wicked way with you." He smiled at his lover before kissing him again, before kissing him long into the night.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

The goodbyes didn't last long; no one wanted to linger although their moods were mostly good. Aaron and Jackson were anxious to escape the town where they still felt uncomfortable, where they still didn't want to walk the length of the High Street from choice. Conscious of the long journey ahead of them, Cain and Paddy, Hazel and Chas, were as keen to leave; Cain glowering relentlessly as Hazel and Chas fired last minute instructions to Aaron and Jackson.

"Text me; let me know you get there safe," said Chas, her voice missing its usual shrill tones.

"Look after each other, and be careful," Hazel whispered loudly to Jackson.

The cars were already loaded; milling about between them, no one willing to be the first to leave, to drive away, to leave the others standing, waving.

"Oh come on!" growled Cain in exasperation. "Aaron! Take lover boy here and do one, will you. You don't want to hang around here anymore than we do!"

Aaron glared at him, a scowl mirroring that of his uncle, for a moment he was going to snarl back, a sharp retort, his anger sharply rising at Cain's words. Until he saw Jackson, caught sight of him from the corner of his eye, grinning cheekily at Cain, his eyes shining in delight, in anticipation.

"Oh take care, son!" Chas grabbed Aaron, pulling him into her embrace.

Hiding his reluctance, he allowed himself to be hugged.

Jackson jumped into the driving seat of the Megane, avoiding the embarrassment of his mother's enthusiastic goodbye. Winding the window down, he couldn't escape her continued instructions as he waited for Aaron.

Eventually, waving sociably, ignoring the emotion obvious on the faces of the two women they pulled out of the car park, on their way, alone, at last.

Less than a minute later, they pulled into the car park of a large supermarket; an essential visit before the drive to the small village and their retreat.

It didn't take them long to fill their trolley, to stow the bulging plastic bags in the boot, already full of the essentials needed for their weeks holiday.

It didn't take them long to be properly on their way, leaving the town they knew they would never do more than drive straight through ever again.

It looked very different in winter, the road north; emptier of traffic, the hills starker, snow topped. Barely mid-morning as they drove north, the late rising sun low in the sky hadn't yet risen above the highest hills; when the road wound through dark, coniferous trees lining the road in places, it could have been night.

In less time than they expected they had reached the village; too early to check into the chalet. The car park that had been full to overflowing in the summer was almost empty now; they parked, grabbing jackets, began the short walk back to the centre of the village.

Turning, a small, single track lane ran parallel to the canal, wandering, intending to walk its length to the loch, they passed a cafe, unexpectedly open.

"Late breakfast, early lunch?" asked Jackson, nodding towards the cafe. "You fancy it?"

"I'm starving, go for it," answered Aaron.

They sat at a table by the window, although a wall on the other side of the lane blocked their view of the canal. Ordering an 'all day breakfast' each, they looked round at the other customers, trying to decide if there were any other visitors amongst them.

"Feels a million miles away, doesn't it," mused Jackson, "from home, from the last couple of days."

"Yeah, it does," agreed Aaron, smiling at him across the table. "Thank goodness. I just want to forget all about it now."

"Me too," agreed Jackson, looking into Aaron's eyes, into the blue eyes that could turn his stomach to jelly, make his heart melt. He smiled back, a warm glow of pleasure, of anticipation washing over him; a week, a whole week alone together, no one else to worry about, to take into consideration. Under the table he stretched out his leg, felt it touch Aaron's, gently he moved, rubbing against Aaron's, still holding his eyes with his own, an invitation dancing in them; a moment when nothing else mattered.

Two plates, piled high with steaming hot food, were placed in front of them, distracting them, occupying them. Hungrily they set about devouring their meals, concentrating on nothing else for a few minutes. Coffee after, dark and strong; stretching contented in his chair, Aaron gazed out of the window.

"What now?" he asked.

"Might as well still walk down to the loch," replied Jackson. "Can't really go to the chalet before two at the earliest."

Leaving the warmth of the cafe, they crossed the lane and through a gap in the wall to the canal towpath. The pontoons that had been crammed full of moored boats in the summer were empty now although the large boat that gave cruises on the loch was still forlornly at its mooring.

Even walking slowly, it took them less than ten minutes to walk to the end of the canal, to the view, stretching forever, down the long, narrow loch. For a few moments they stood, close but not touching, just looking, drinking in the vista opening out before them.

Looking at his watch, seeing how little time had moved on, "Pub?" Aaron suggested.

"Why not," agreed Jackson, as they turned, beginning to walk back up the path towards the centre of the village.

The canalside tables outside the pub where they had enjoyed pints in the summer, were still there, empty now and uninviting. Inside the pub, a fire blazed, a few folk stood at the bar, idly chatting to the barmaid. Taking their pints to a table as near to the fire as they could, grabbing a couple of newspapers from a pile at the end of the bar, they whiled away a pleasant couple of hours until they could check into the chalet.

Returning to their car, it was only a short drive back down the other side of the canal until they reached the B & B Hazel had stayed in, where they were to collect the key for the chalet. Swinging the car into the drive, Jackson jumped from the passenger seat and knocked on the front door.

"Jackson! Lovely to see you again!" The woman who opened the door, greeted him, waved towards the car at Aaron, was as Jackson remembered her from the summer, from the few times he had seen her, mostly in the company of his mother.

"Now dear," she continued comfortably, "I've put the parcel your mum sent up into the chalet for you, and the bit of shopping she asked me to get in for you is there too."

"But mum didn't know we were coming here," said Jackson, confused.

She gave him a look, a look that so clearly said don't be so young, so naive, so silly.

"Your mother phoned me, weeks ago, asked me if you had booked in here this week," she said. "When I told her you had, she sent up the parcel and a little shopping list for me. I was happy to help; we had some good fun back in the summer, me and your mum. Anyway, here are your keys, the new log burner is on already for you so it's nice and cosy, with a log pile at the door." She handed the keys to Jackson. "Now if there is anything else you're needing, just come up to the house here and find me."

Jackson returned to the car, shaking his head to himself.

"What's up?" questioned Aaron, seeing him.

"My mother! She really is something else! She only phoned up, weeks ago, to find out if we were coming here; and she's only sent some parcel up and got the woman to get some shopping in." He laughed, disbelievingly, as he spoke.

"She didn't!" exclaimed Aaron as he swung the car back onto the canalside lane that quickly turned into rough towpath as it went further from the village.

"Oh yes, she did" countered Jackson. "I dread to think what she has sent up."

It took them a matter of minutes to reach the chalet, turning from the towpath, entering the park, passing the other chalets until they reached the one that would be their home for the next week. Parking, their excitement growing as, leaving their luggage for the moment, they went into the chalet.

"It's funny to think other people have stayed here since we were here in the summer," said Aaron, stopping just inside the door. "Looks like we just walked out of it."

"Yeah, except for the log burner," said Jackson, pushing past Aaron, walking the length of the open plan chalet to the sitting area. He bent down in front of the stove. "There's some heat coming from this!"

Aaron joined him, touching his fingers briefly to the stove, before pulling them back sharply.

"Yeah, gonna be very warm and cosy, aren't we?" Aaron said, turning to Jackson, pulling him up, pulling him into his arms. "We've got a whole week to enjoy this." His voice was quiet, a suggestion, an invitation in his tone.

"Mmm, we are, aren't we," agreed Jackson, sliding his arms around Aaron's waist, pulling him close, bending his head until their lips met in a tender kiss, a kiss that lingered, that was a promise of more to come.

"We'd better get the stuff from the car," murmured Jackson, pulling away.

"Must we?" asked Aaron, a teasing, hurt expression on his face.

"Yeah, let's make it feel like ours, with our stuff about, then we can…"

"What!" interrupted Aaron, his eyes sparkling in cheeky expectation.

"Look in that box of mother's," finished Jackson, nodding to where it sat on the large wooden dining table at the window, in dark anticipation; waiting for them

It didn't take them long to bring in their bags from the car; dumping the bags of shopping in the kitchen, taking their holdalls upstairs, although not unpacking; leaving their CDs, DVDs in a pile by the television.

Emptying the plastic carrier bags, filling cupboards with food, Jackson opened the fridge; his laughter attracting Aaron's attention, bringing him over to stand beside him.

"This must be the shopping," chucked Jackson, reaching into the fridge. "Twelve cans and…" he pulled out a dark green bottle, "champagne. With a note."

"Champagne," groaned Aaron, pulling a face. "That's a right poof's drink."

"And you are…?" retorted Jackson, ripping open the note, laughing again as he read it.

"What's so funny?" Aaron pulled him round, read aloud over his shoulder. "_Tell Aaron to try it; the bubbles might put a smile on his face_!" He pulled a face, tried to scowl, a scowl that didn't reach his eyes, that couldn't overcome the smile it was battling against. "Always thought your mother was a witch!"

"She definitely is," agreed Jackson cheerfully. "Anyway, it will be an experience; I've never tried it either. Right. What about this box."

They moved over to the table, looked at the box. Large enough, reasonably heavy, Jackson raised his eyebrows seeing the parcel price on it. He pulled it towards him, shoogling it as he did so.

"I dread to think what's in it," said Aaron, watching as Jackson began to pull the wrapping paper from the package.

"So long as she's as she's not been online shopping at 'Gay-Sex-Toys-R-Us," replied Jackson, tentatively lifting the lid. "Oh! My! God! She has!" Jackson looked at Aaron, his dark eyes wide.

"What!" yelped Aaron, pushing him away to get his own view into the box. "You git!" exclaimed Aaron as he saw inside.

"Ah, you're so easy to wind up," laughed Jackson, hauling the magazines from the box. "I get the eye candy and I guess these are yours." He handed Aaron a couple of car magazines. "I really don't know why she bothers; anyone would think there are no shops here."

"What else is there?" asked Aaron, reaching over. "Two packs of cards; ordinary, and what's these? _A gay twist on the traditional game of Happy Families; Happy Gay Families,_" he read. "She's mad!"

"Yeah, think we'll give those a miss," agreed Jackson, "the others might come in handy though." Jackson grinned at Aaron, remembering. He returned to the box; "pastels, she really thinks I need to get back to the drawing, doesn't she. And what's this? Scrabble?" He lifted the game from the box, dropping it on the table, allowing its lid to come slightly adrift from the bulging box.

"Wait a minute," said Aaron, pulling it towards him. "There is something else inside it." He lifted the lid completely off, revealing a small book. Aaron took the book out, glanced at the cover then handed it to Jackson.

"How can I ever look her in the face again," he groaned, as Jackson also read the cover, then laughed. Taped to the cover were the instructions _'If you play Scrabble, you can only use words from this book'_ in his mother's handwriting; looking more closely at the book, he saw the title; _'The Dictionary of Sexual Words and Slang,'_

"What on earth was she thinking?" asked Aaron.

"She wasn't," answered Jackson. "She was having fun, teasing us. Still," he added stoically, "it could have been worse."

"How?" questioned Aaron.

"Could have been a tube of strawberry flavoured lube and a butt plug!" replied Jackson.

"Or fluffy pink handcuffs and nipple clamps," laughed Aaron.

"Now that would suit you," murmured Jackson quietly; suddenly, amid the laughter, desire coursed through his body. He moved quickly to Aaron, his hands holding his arms as he kissed him, his urgent need clear as he pressed against Aaron's body.

Their lips hard against each other, they kissed hungrily, teeth grazing lips, nipping, biting; deepening the kiss, Jackson pushed his tongue between Aaron's teeth, tasting him, meeting his tongue; dancing, fighting, needing.

Jackson moved his hand, resting it against Aaron's chest, feeling his nipple through his tee shirt. He pressed, running one finger over the growing bud; against him, Aaron writhed, relishing the sensation. Teasing now, demanding, Jackson pinched through the thin material, enjoying Aaron's groan of pleasure, of pain as he pinched again, harder.

Breaking their embrace, Aaron pulled Jackson away from the table, to the warmth in front of the log burner.

"Here! Now!" his voice deep, lust-filled, his hands already dragging at Jackson's jumper, pulling it upwards, over his head, off; taking his tee shirt with it. His hands moved to Jackson's jeans, quickly joined by Jackson's own hand as he fumbled to undo them.

Naked, Jackson ripped at Aaron's clothes, discarding his tee shirt, turning his attention to his trackkies, easily sliding them down over his hips, sliding his hands down his hips, his thighs, after them. Kneeling, his hands caressing the top of Aaron's legs, his buttocks, as he brought his head close to his already rigid cock, gently he caught it between his fingers, then gripped it in his hands, moving, pumping up, down, once, twice, again before letting his lips slide over it, letting his tongue lick it, taste it, taste the juice already leaking from its slit.

Pausing, his eyes closed, Jackson kept his lips barely cupping the tip of Aaron's cock, savouring, prolonging the moment. Above him, as his fingers clung ferociously to his shoulders, nails biting through his skin, Jackson could hear Aaron groaning in anticipation, feel him easing his hips towards him, desperate for his cock to be taken fully into his mouth, to feel his teeth rake the length of it, then to take control and fuck his lovers face.

He couldn't wait any longer then; slowly, rapidly increasing his pace, his rhythm, he took Aaron's cock deeper into his mouth, deeper, swallowing, moving faster, feeling Aaron's excitement growing.

"Need to...lie...down..." gasped Aaron, unable to stand any longer with nothing to lean against.

Releasing him for a moment, together they moved to the nearest sofa, Jackson pushing Aaron onto his back, his fingers briefly finding his nipple again, briefly pinching. Now Jackson quickly eased himself on top of Aaron, his legs straddling his chest as he faced his groin, his cock. Grasping, tugging, bringing it back to full hardness, Jackson leant forward, taking it in his mouth, beginning again the movements he knew would bring Aaron to the very precipice of excitement.

Suddenly he felt Aaron's hands at his hips, pulling, hinting; he knew what he wanted. Without breaking his rhythm, he moved, lifted his arse, felt hands sliding round him, guiding him; suddenly felt lips, teeth, taking, swallowing, his own aching cock.

Melting, blending, their excitement growing together; moving, bringing each other closer and closer; feeling the tension in their bodies, clenching, gripping their guts...lower...an ache...increasing...a crescendo...an explosion! Wave after wave, engulfing them, overwhelming them as they came, brought to the brink, the peek, pushed over into soaring infinity.

Breathless, sweating, Jackson rolled off Aaron, turning into his arms. Facing him, he smiled, licked his lips, savouring his lovers cum, flavouring his mouth, caught in the soft hairs on his face.

"That was..."

"That was only the beginning," Aaron interrupted. "I want you." He smiled.

Jackson returned his smile.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

"That was only the beginning," Aaron smiled. "I want you." Ignoring the clothes strewn across the floor, he stood, reached out his hand, pulled Jackson from the sofa. Still holding his hand, he led Jackson towards the stairs.

Upstairs, in the bedroom, Aaron let go of Jackson's hand long enough to throw their bags from the bed. Sitting, he pulled Jackson towards him, on top of him, falling backwards, both of them tumbling onto the bed, their eyes sparkling with lust, with desire; their hands caressing, urgently exploring each other's bodies. Kissing again, hunger taking over, their lips pressed hard, hurting, tongues pushing deeper until breathlessness forced them apart.

Rolling, pushing his hands against Jackson's chest, Aaron moved quickly, tumbling Jackson onto his back, his hands either side of his head, his arms braced, holding his weight above him, looking down into his chocolate brown eyes, eyes that were laughing up into his with excited expectation.

"I am so gonna have you," Aaron whispered down to him. "You just turn me on so much; I want to run my hands all over your body, teasing you, turning you on. I want to kiss you – all over..." Aaron moved, running one finger lightly down Jackson's chest, feeling him shudder beneath the gentle touch.

Now lying along the length of Jackson's body, trapping one leg under his hips, Aaron caressed Jackson's free leg, easing it out, further from his own body. Without taking his eyes from Jackson's face, he began to touch him, teasingly running one finger the length of his rigid cock.

"And when I've kissed you all over, I'm gonna play with your cock; your gorgeous, hard, cock, that is just aching to fuck me," he whispered slowly, emphasising each word. "But I'm not gonna let you cum, because then I am gonna slide my finger into you, maybe even two fingers, get you all turned on, hot and ready..."

Groaning beneath him, Jackson closed his eyes; Aaron could see his fists tightly clenched, could see the glisten of sweat beginning to bead on his chest, hear his breathing becoming ragged with desire.

"Aaron," he gasped, "maybe you could just get on with it, because if you keep talking, I might just cum here and now and that would be a fucking waste." Unclenching his fists, Jackson reached his arms around Aaron's neck, pulled him closer, until he could kiss him, his lips hard against Aaron's, silencing him in the most effective way he could.

Kissing, Aaron's hands roaming over his legs, his hips, reaching to caress as much of his buttocks as he could reach; Jackson felt himself melting, dissolving into the sensations flooding through his body.

Moving again, Aaron lay between Jackson's legs, rubbing them, lifting them, letting his lower legs rest on his shoulders, his back. He slipped one hand under the small of Jackson's back; lowering his head, he dropped tender kisses on the crease of skin at his groin, felt him writhe underneath him, squirming away from the intensity of the pleasure, pushing into his need.

Taking his time, Aaron trailed his fingers through the curling hair surrounding his cock, touching it lightly, delicately, knowing his gentleness was increasing Jackson's desire, the ache in his groin, the gut-clenching, pent-up sensations feeding his overwhelming need. Letting one finger slide through the juice already leaking from his slit; making sure Jackson was watching, he raised that finger to his lips, licked it, slowly, oh so slowly, delicately, before slipping it into his mouth, drawing it out slowly, raising the sense of anticipation while getting closer and closer to the moment Jackson had been waiting for, aching for, needing.

His finger wet now, Aaron watched Jackson's face as at last he touched his arse, barely touching, a tiny, delicate caress, smiling as he felt the quick contractions, encouraging him onwards. Teasing, removing his finger, gently Aaron blew, his breath again causing the petaled hole to pucker, to invite. Touching again, he allowed nothing more than the lightest pressure of his finger against Jackson's arse.

Underneath him, Jackson groaned, lifted his hips, demanding, pushing onto Aaron's finger, pushing harder, thrusting forward. Desperate now, in his need to feel Aaron's finger inside him, Jackson pushed his legs down, the increase in pressure letting his arse begin to ride that teasing, tormenting finger. Turning his head, pressing his forehead against Aaron's muscular arms; Jackson gave himself up to the need consuming him, fucking Aaron's finger yet needing so much more.

For a few moments Aaron let him try to satisfy himself, knowing it wasn't enough, delighting in his desire so plainly laid before him. Suddenly he withdrew, seconds later pushing two fingers into him, enjoying the quick gasp from his lips at the unexpected change. Watching him, watching his face, watching his fingers pumping into him, turned Aaron on so much; his own cock was aching for some action, aching to enter that hole, to take Jackson, possesses him completely. But he could wait, for a few minutes more at least; enjoying Jackson's building excitement, increasing passion.

Withdrawing, he pushed Jackson's legs hard, harder, back towards his head, exposing his entrance. He could see him, waiting, anticipating, expecting the thrust, the almost unbearable mix of pleasure, of pain; the fullness.

Unable to hold back any longer, Aaron took his cock in his hand, moved closed, tormenting; rubbing the head of his cock against Jackson's hole, just for a moment, allowing a seconds breathing space as he caught Jackson's eyes with his own, before he thrust, hard, into Jackson. No gentle entrance, no easing his swollen cock through Jackson's still tight ring; suddenly, achingly, Aaron had to have him, all of him. Pushing, thrusting, his hips pounding hard against Jackson's buttocks as he entered him, making him take the full length of him, feeling the shuddering ripples of excitement, of agony, flooding in conflict through his lover's body.

Closing, the space between them becoming nothing, becoming everything, becoming one; a tangle of arms, legs, uniting them; in unison, in harmony, they were joined, agony mixing easily with ecstasy, growing together, higher, harder, wave after wave, flooding, overwhelming them. Unable to hold back any longer, Aaron held tight to Jackson as he came inside him; the crescendo, the explosion taking them both beyond conscious thought as their shared orgasm ripped through them. Until at last, spent, exhausted yet still entwined, they lay, they slept.

...

Naked, entwined, they slept on top of the covers, exhausted in the aftermath of their passion. Slept for how long? It was dark when Jackson awoke; it could have been four o' clock or ten o' clock; the darkness, unrelieved by a watch, told him nothing. He didn't hunt for the time though, it didn't matter, nothing mattered for the next week, nothing except Aaron. Looking at the young man lying, still sleeping, next to him, Jackson let his eyes roam slowly over his body; his beautiful body, his muscles defined, yet now relaxed in sleep. The body that he shared unreservedly with him; the body that still shows signs of their recent love making.

Reluctantly sliding from his arms, Jackson went into the bathroom, turning the hot tap on full before heading back to the bedroom, rummaging in their bags for the bubble bath he had packed when Aaron wasn't looking, pouring a generous measure into the bath, watching the growing, luxuriant bubbles even as the woody fragrance filled the room. Switching the light off, so the only light in the room came through from the bedroom, he went back to wake Aaron

To wake him with a gentle kiss; to wake him with his fingers trailing down the length of his chest, his legs, kissing him again; to wake him whispering in his ear. To wake him, when nothing worked, with a hearty shove, with his name spoken loudly, close to his ear.

"Aaron! The bath's run, I've just got to get something from downstairs," Jackson said, satisfied at last that he was awake and stirring.

His eyes open now, Aaron half smiled at Jackson, raised one eyebrow, in remembrance, in invitation.

"Get in the bath, Livsey!" laughed Jackson, "I'll be back in a minute, and if you're lucky, I'll even wash your back for you!"

Smiling, Aaron swung his legs off the bed, stood, as he watched Jackson leave the bedroom, heard his bare feet padding down the stairs. He wandered into the bathroom, wrinkling his nose in indulgent disgust at the aroma filling the room; Jackson's liking for smelly, bubbly baths a mystery to him; he was just glad they shared showers more than baths. He stepped into the deep bath, sat carefully, stretched, letting the warm, fragrant water swirl around him.

Very quickly, Jackson returned, carrying two glasses in one hand, the open bottle of champagne in the other. Filling the glasses, he handed one to Aaron, stood the bottle in the sink, then climbed in, not sitting at the opposite end to Aaron, but sliding between his legs, sliding deep into the water, resting his back against his lover's chest, closing his eyes in contentment.

"Have you tried it yet?" asked Jackson, eventually breaking the comfortable silence.

"Been watching the bubbles," murmured Aaron, "champagne, not bath. It's just not me."

"Not me either," agreed Jackson, twisting his head and shoulders around until he could see Aaron. "But it would be a shame to waste it, now it's open. Together?"

Not answering, but lifting his glass, bringing it to his lips, Aaron waited as Jackson did the same; sipping, tasting, letting the bubbles play on their tongues.

"It's different," said Jackson.

Taking another mouthful, he twisted around again, his free hand reaching, pulling Aaron towards him, close enough to kiss. Joining their lips, opening his mouth, just a little, Jackson let some of the champagne trickle onto Aaron's lips, into his mouth. Surprised, unsure what to do, Aaron almost pulled away, would have done if Jackson's hand hadn't been cupping his neck, holding him, letting him get used to the idea, the sensation. Letting the last of the wine trickle into his mouth, Jackson broke the kiss.

"I could get used to it, I suppose," said Aaron, "especially from that particular glass," he added.

"Well don't!" replied Jackson, "we couldn't afford it. Though I dare say the Woolly's lager would taste just as good from that glass, or a similar one!" In the dim light, his eyes sparked with laughter.

"I know it would," Aaron smiled, "but what would Diane say if I started drinking from that glass in the bar?" he wondered.

"What would they all say? Can you imagine my mother? Your mother? Edna Birch?" Jackson shook his head, struggling to push the pictures from his mind.

Giggling together, they downed the rest of their drinks before abandoning the bath; quickly drying themselves

"Shall we just watch telly in bed?" asked Jackson.

"Sounds good," agreed Aaron. "Could do with something to eat though," he added.

"You warm the bed then, and I'll make us something," said Jackson, wrapping a fresh, dry towel round his waist.

"Not toast," Aaron said quickly.

"Scared of a few crumbs in the bed, you wuss!" laughed Jackson.

"No!" protested Aaron. "I just don't like them."

"Okay my delicate little sweetums, no toast. Can't scratch your peachy bum, can we?"

"Not with toast crumbs anyway," smirked Aaron, sliding naked under the bed covers.

"Don't drink all the champagne while I'm gone," said Jackson, heading to the stairs, grinning as Aaron wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Champagne really wasn't him, Aaron thought, as he refilled their two glasses, leaning over to stand Jackson's on the bedside table at the opposite side of the bed, waiting for his return. The tall, thin flute felt strange in his hand, used to the solid heartiness of a pint glass; still, he sipped as he waited, flicking through the channels, straining to hear the small sounds of Jackson moving about in the kitchen.

Eventually Jackson reappeared in the bedroom, a laden tray in his hands.

"Cold chicken and pasta salad," he volunteered, "not a breadcrumb in sight. I see the expensive fizz is going down well then," he nodded at the empty glass clasped between Aaron's fingers.

"You said yourself, can't waste it," replied Aaron, rather surprised himself to see the empty glass.

Placing the tray on the empty dressing table, Jackson passed a bowl and fork to Aaron, taking another for himself, climbed in beside him.

Hungrily, they ate in companionable silence, the television chattering quietly on the other side of the bedroom.

"Mmm, that was so good," said Aaron, putting his empty bowl on the table beside him. "Any pudding?"

"Oh I've got something in mind," smiled Jackson, laying his bowl aside. Leaning over, he captured Aaron's hands with his own and began to kiss him, still hungry.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Aaron stretched languidly in the bed; he was awake, more or less. He didn't know what time it was, he wasn't quite sure where his watch was; he had taken it off at some point during the previous evening, but at the moment he couldn't recollect where; there were more pleasurable things to remember about the evening.

He lay for a while, looking at Jackson occasionally; he was relaxed yet distant from him, his sleeping face missing the sparkle, the lustre of his chocolate brown eyes, eyes that could dance with mischief and haunt him with their depth, their intensity.

It didn't seem to be daylight, from what Aaron could tell without moving from the bed. Yet it didn't seem to be pitch dark either; if he got up to get a coffee, he could see what the time was and still come back to bed with his drink.

He swung his legs from the bed, looking at first for his clothes before remembering they were scattered the length of the room downstairs. Naked, yet warm enough, he wandered first to the window, pulling the curtain back, looking out.

"Jackson!" he called. "Jackson!" again, more urgently, his voice louder, enough to rouse him.

"Mmmm. What?" Sleepily, hardly awake, Jackson answered him, turning over in the bed, pulling the covers further over his head.

"Jackson! Get up!"

"What's up? Oh come back to bed, Aaron," he was beginning to wake, disturbed despite his determination to stay asleep.

"It's been snowing," Aaron called back to him over his shoulder.

"So, there's a bit of snow," Jackson mumbled, "we have snow in Yorkshire too."

"No, I mean it's really snowed," said Aaron emphatically. "It's deep!"

In exasperation, knowing he wouldn't get peace until he had joined Aaron at the window, Jackson flung the covers from him, but paused before he moved any further from the bed. He looked over at Aaron, his delight and enthusiasm obvious in his face as still stood at the window.

"You can be such a kid sometimes," he grumbled, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Didn't hear you saying that last night," smirked Aaron. "C'mon, come and look," he added impatiently.

"Okay, I'm coming," said Jackson, reluctantly leaving the bed.

He joined Aaron at the window. "Oh! You're right! That's snow!" he teased.

"You know what I mean," said Aaron. "It's a lot of snow."

"Okay," said Jackson, stretching the word. "It does look quite deep, I'll give you that."

"You," said Aaron, sliding his hand around Jackson's hip, caressing his buttocks, "you are such a git!"

"I am," agreed Jackson cheerfully, "and you, sweetheart, are very fond of me!" He pulled Aaron towards him, pulled into a quick, hard kiss. "I hope no one can see us, standing here, starkers," he added as they broke apart.

"Shite!" yelped Aaron, jumping backwards, away from the window. "I didn't even think."

"Relax," said Jackson, reaching, pulling him forward into his embrace again. "None of the other chalets can see us, and I'm sure there will be no one wandering around in this yet; it's still early enough"

"Yeah, s'pose you're right," Aaron conceded.

"Course I am," said Jackson smugly. "So, now that you've woken me up and I've admired your snow... any chance of a coffee in bed?"

Aaron looked at him, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Coffee Aaron, actual coffee, you slut! Do you not think about anything else?"

"Wasn't really planning to this week," Aaron replied, cheekily. "And you're standing there, bare naked, looking hot, what's a lad supposed to think?"

"That his boyfriend needs a coffee before he can even think of anything else," laughed Jackson, moving quickly as Aaron leant over to grab him. Quickly covering the few feet back to the bed, Jackson leapt in, pulling the covers up to his chin, giggling as Aaron, following him, launched himself on top of him.

"Coffee, coffee, coffee!" protested Jackson between giggles as Aaron squirmed on top of him, his hands trying to tickle him through the thick downie.

"Give me a kiss and I'll get you a coffee," teased Aaron, at last capturing Jackson's hands, holding them prisoner against the pillow, above his head, looking down into those dark eyes that made him melt.

Suddenly they were kissing; teasing, passionate kisses, hungry again for each other.

It was full daylight by the time they went downstairs, needing coffee; full daylight, but the sun hadn't yet risen above the eastern hills. Jackson stood looking out of the window, nursing his coffee, watching the still falling snow, as Aaron clattered in the open plan kitchen, throwing last night's dishes into the dishwasher.

Aaron was texting, sitting at the table with his second mug of coffee when the knock came on the door. He was nearer; looking at Jackson he stood, peered through the window then moved to open the door.

"Yes," he said, a layer of suspicion colouring the single word.

"Hi. I'm Calum. From the B & B; you're renting the chalet from my mum," he spoke hesitantly.

Aaron flicked his gaze over him; he was a lad, thirteen, maybe fourteen; it was hard to tell muffled as he was in thick jacket, enveloping scarf and a hat pulled low down, shielding his face.

"Come in out of the snow, Calum," said Jackson cheerfully, joining Aaron at the door, giving him a shove out of the way. "I'm Jackson, this friendly soul is Aaron; what can we do for you?"

Calum took a few steps in through the door, his eyes roaming round as he did so. Following his gaze, Jackson realised their clothes...their underclothes...were still strewn haphazardly in clear view across the other side of the room...oh well...there was nothing he could do without making it even more obvious.

"My mum sent me," Calum began nervously. "She wondered if you were needing your car out, 'cos if you do, my dad can come down with the quad – it's got a wee snow plough – and dig you out."

"Nah, I don't think we are going anywhere," said Jackson, "are we Aaron?" he asked.

"Hibernating," agreed Aaron, nodding, his manner thawing a little. "Although...is there anywhere in the village to buy cheap wellies; don't want to wreck my good boots."

"You might get some down at the petrol station," Calum answered quickly. "But we've loads down at ours, could maybe give you a shot of some."

"Sound. Least to get us down to the garage to check it out," said Aaron.

"I'll go back now and see," said Calum enthusiastically. "What sizes?" he asked, his eyes flicking again into the room, as if they were drawn to the unorthodox decorations despite himself.

Jackson told him, then watched him slog off in the deep snow, the effort of every footstep clear.

"Did you see him checking out the clothes everywhere," said Jackson, closing the door behind him.

"What," replied Aaron, not understanding until he followed the nod of Jackson's head, until he realised that his boxers hung clearly over the arm of the chair, that other clothes were clearly visible. "Shite!" he breathed, "maybe he won't guess."

"Well I assume my dear mother told his mother that we are together when she was staying there in the summer, so he probably knows already."

"God! I hope he isn't going to stir it, get his mates or anything," said Aaron, sudden apprehension, flooding through him.

"Nah! It'll be fine," said Jackson, understanding, reassuring him. He rubbed his hand up against Aaron's arm, moving past him towards the sofa, gathering up the clothes.

Aaron took a deep breath, struggling to calm the thoughts that were suddenly running amuck in his head.

"Breakfast? Lunch? Brunch? Fry-up?" he asked, watching Jackson, needing something to do, something to distract himself.

"Do it!" called back Jackson, heading for the stairs with the bundle of clothes.

Aaron began rummaging in the kitchen cupboards, bringing out a frying pan, a small saucepan, then to another cupboard, finding a tin of baked beans. From the fridge, eggs, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms; interrupting himself, he switched the television on, finding a radio station, letting the music fill the room, the happy, cheerful tempo lifting the anxiety that had possessed him briefly.

Pottering at the stove, Aaron felt himself relax; he rarely ventured into the kitchen at home, apart from making toast; he could make great toast. Moving between the eye level grill, watching the sausages, the bacon; stirring the pot on the rings, Aaron began to hum along with the music, unconsciously mouthing the words to songs he knew, unaware that he was doing it.

Coming back down the stairs, Jackson watched him, listened to him for a moment before sitting down at the large wooden table.

Suddenly aware of him, Aaron turned and smiled.

"Don't stop on my account," said Jackson.

"Stop what?" questioned Aaron, puzzled.

"Singing...well, kinda singing," explained Jackson.

"I was not!" protested Aaron.

"Were so!" countered Jackson, smirking at him, standing to close the distance between them, sliding his arms around Aaron's waist as he turned back to his cooking. "Smells great," he added.

"You can't get round me y'know," teased Aaron, draping the tea towel he had been holding over his shoulder; "accusing me of singing then telling me my cooking smells good."

"Oh I can get round you..." Jackson bent his head forward, began to nuzzle at Aaron's neck, feeling the short, spiky hair sharp against his face. Gently he let his lips, his teeth, graze the sensitive skin, enjoying the feeling of Aaron moving away from him, moving into him.

"I can get round you...so easily..." he continued softly.

Giving in, turning round in his arms, Aaron put his arms around Jackson's neck, quickly kissing him.

"Right, you've had your kiss, now bugger off and let me sort this."

"Oo-oh, get you Delia!" teased Jackson, skipping rapidly out of the way as Aaron flicked the tea towel at his arse; Jackson sticking his tongue out at him as he missed.

Grinning at each other for a second or two, enjoying the banter, both verbal and physical, more relaxed than they had been for months; Aaron moved back to the stove, Jackson wandered away, leaving him to finished the cooking in peace.

They had hardly begun eating a few minutes later, when a knock came at the door. Aaron scowled, not moving from where he was sitting, perched comfortably on the sofa.

"That'll be him; that kid," he said. "Make sure he's not got his mates with him," he added as Jackson got up to open the door.

"Don't start getting paranoid," said Jackson, over his shoulder, not quite sure as the words left his lips whether he was serious or not.

"Hi Calum," he said, opening the door. "Come in; dump those down there," he nodded at the large black bag in Calum's hand.

"Mum sent several pairs to try; she said if any fit to keep them for the week. And there are waterproofs in the bag too." He shuffled awkwardly, one foot to the other; having delivered the bag, his message, he seemed unsure what to do.

Jackson glanced over to Aaron, still sitting, his eyes warily watching.

"Come in for a while if you want, Calum," said Jackson. "There's a bit of bacon left if you want it in a sandwich." He didn't move, waiting for the young lad's answer.

"Right...er...yeah...thanks. I'd better go...are you two gay?" Gabbling his words awkwardly, each tumbling quicker and quicker over the next, he let the last four slip out as though they did not belong to him, were not uttered by him. Yet was given the lie as his face flushed beetroot, the ultimate betrayal; he couldn't pretend he had not said them, couldn't deny them, couldn't pretend they were not floating in the air between them.

"Yeah, we are," said Jackson, taking two slices of bread from the loaf, loading the remaining bacon onto them. "Did your mum tell you?" putting the sandwich on a plate, he handed it to Calum.

"No," said Calum stepping form his over large wellies, following him across to the living area, perching uncomfortably on the edge of chair, ready to bolt. "I knew already but I heard my mum talking to Betty across the fence about you, about the court case. She was dead pleased about the result."

"How did she know about the court case?" questioned Aaron suspiciously, "and the result?"

"Well there was a little bit in the _News_ on Thursday, just saying it was starting, but Hazel phoned her on Friday."

"Mum phoned her?"

"She what?"

Jackson and Aaron's voices clashed; surprise and incredulity obvious in each.

Calum looked between them, from one to another. "They phone or text quite often; didn't you know?"

Jackson laughed. "Full of surprises, my mum." He looked at Aaron, shaking his head in disbelief.

"How did you know?" asked Calum.

"Know what?" questioned Aaron, confused. "About Hazel, we didn't, did we?"

"No, I didn't mean that," replied Calum quickly. "I meant about being gay. How did you know? When did you know?"

Aaron glanced quickly at Jackson, unspoken words suddenly flowing between them, unspoken suspicion, unspoken understanding. Biting his lip, Aaron wondered what to say, how to help; nothing could really help, make it easy.

Jackson waited, suddenly feeling that he should say nothing yet, that he should give Aaron the chance to speak first; it was closer, for him, rawer; that he had struggled more, seeking to accept himself.

"Kinda always known," Aaron began hesitantly, "but I was always running away from it, for years, it hurt too much. Until recently, not quite a year ago, then I stopped running." He stopped speaking, it didn't make sense, even in his head, it didn't make sense.

"How old are you, Calum?" asked Jackson.

"Sixteen," replied Calum.

Jackson raised an eyebrow questioningly

"Almost sixteen," he elaborated.

"And have you..."Jackson paused, feeling awkward, yet knowing the younger lad was wanting to know, to understand, perhaps to talk. "Do you think you're gay?"

"I don't know...maybe," he paused, visibly taking a deep breath, a deciding breath, before he continued. "There's this lad at school...we were at swimming...he touched me..."

"Touched you?" asked Jackson quickly.

"No! Not like that," Calum said, blushing again. "He walked past me, his shoulder knocked against mine...it was like...electricity. And I haven't stopped thinking about it...about him...since. So do you think I'm gay?"

"I don't know, Calum, honestly," Jackson answered him. "Only you know how you feel, and you're very young, your feelings might change, sexuality – it's not necessarily fixed in stone," Jackson wasn't sure if what he was saying made any sense to the boy; he wasn't entirely sure it made sense to him.

"Just don't be scared though," said Aaron, butting in. "If you're gay, you're gay." As the words left his mouth, he could hear them echoing in his head, echoing down the months. Suddenly memories, images, began to flood through his mind, Paddy, cowering on the floor, blood flowing down his face. Paddy holding him; telling him he loved him, making him believe he was loved.

"Talk to your mum, if you can," said Jackson, "she seems nice; I'm sure she'll be ok. Mine was."

"Yeah, maybe," said Calum. "But Hazel is cool."

"Not when you live with her twenty four seven," said Jackson firmly.

For a moment, no one spoke, all three lads lost in their own thoughts, their own memories.

"I think I need to go," blurted out Calum suddenly. "Thanks for the bacon sandwich."

Almost before they realised, he had jumped back into his wellies and was out of the door, yelling a hurried goodbye behind him.

"Didn't know we were so scary," said Aaron

"Poor kid, he's scared shitless," said Jackson, thoughtfully. "Must have taken a lot for him to say that to two strangers."

"Yeah, I think you're right," said Aaron quietly, memories of a conversation surfacing in his mind, memories of a man he suddenly found in a quiet place, a man he could unexpectedly speak to, a man who had helped him begin to accept himself after years of heartache. "Wonder if he'll call again?"

"Dunno, but he knows where we are," said Jackson, "and, for the record, I don't think we are that scary."

"Me neither," grinned Aaron, letting the memoires retreat, just a little. "So we're snowed in...what d'you want to do?"

Jackson looked at him.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

"C'mon Aaron!" Jackson shouted from the bottom of the stairs. "If you don't hurry up it won't be worth going out; it'll be getting dark."

"It's only about half past two," he said, hurtling down the stairs, pulling his hoodie on as he descended.

"Yeah! And it'll be dark by four," said Jackson, moving to the black bag of wellies, still by the kitchen door where Calum had dumped them a few hours before. He tipped them out, finding an assortment of sizes of boots and two pairs of waterproof trousers. Rummaging, matching pairs, checking the sizes, he found a pair that he thought would do him. Hunting again, he matched a pair for Aaron, handing them to him as he joined him, dropping both their coats over the back of a chair.

"Sorry," he said, smiling, smirking, sounding anything but sorry. "Could do with another pair of socks, hold on," he said, balancing on one foot, pulling socks from his pocket and hauling one on. "That's better," he said, easing his foot back into the boot. "Here!" he pulled another pair of socks from another pocket and threw them to Jackson.

"Leave the outside lights on," said Jackson as Aaron went to close and lock the door behind them a few minutes later.

It was hard to see anything of the path as they walked away from the chalet up the lane towards the canal and the tow path to the village. It had been a bright day, what they had seen of it, but to the south west clouds were coming in, clinging to the distant mountains. There was no sign of life at any of the other chalets as they saw them in the distance as they walked by, although snow-covered cars were parked close by each one.

From the tow path they could see street lights in the village already on, casting an orange glow on the snow. On the tow path there were signs of other walkers; footprints in either direction, treading down the snow, making walking slightly easier. Still white, fluffy, the powdery snow skimmed up with every kicking footstep.

Heading towards the village, they trudged close together, glad of the borrowed boots. Reaching the highest of the lock gates, they could look down the length of the flight; already the green lights that illuminated the gates were on, dancing on the gently moving water.

"You're right about it getting dark soon," said Aaron as they crossed over the lock gate. "Can you really be bothered going all the way to the garage; we don't really need anything, do we?"

"Not really, not tonight, and not if we can get a shot of these boots for the week," answered Jackson. "Holiday pint then?"

"Gotta be done, mate," Aaron agreed seriously.

Looking at each other, they smiled; smiles that reached their eyes, held them, said as much as words, more than words could or needed to. In silent agreement they headed towards the small canalside pub.

It was empty; their second visit in two days; the barmaid nodded to them in welcoming recognition as she poured their pints. Having their choice of seats, they took their pints to the table nearest the blazing fire. Giving a good view of the door, they could easily watch the late afternoon drinkers coming in, passing the time of day as they enjoyed an after work pint. It was easy, comfortable, in the bar and between themselves.

It was almost full dark as they left the pub, but there were streetlights enough to see them safely across the canal, up the lane to the start of the tow path. Darkness enveloped them then, the only light the reflected glimmer of brightness from the snow.

"Must remember a torch next time," said Jackson, tentatively putting his hand to Aaron's arm, knowing how edgy he was at any over-closeness in places where hidden eyes might see them.

Closing the distance between them, accepting Jackson's touch, sliding his hand to clasp the hesitant fingers, pushing their entwined hands into the accommodating pocket of his jacket, Aaron smiled at Jackson in the darkness, glad to feel his nearness in the increasing blackness of the night.

Walking slowly, picking their way carefully, it wasn't long before they saw pinpricks of light in the distance; the tiny glow of lights from the collection of scattered chalets, welcoming, growing a little bigger, a little brighter, with each step they took, closing the distance between them. Surprisingly quickly they found the track down to the chalets, easier to find now that tracks of some vehicle, driven down it in the hour or so since they went out, defined it for them.

Rounding the corner of the track, the lights above the door of their temporary home greeted them cheerfully. Slipping the key into the lock, they were inside, back in the warm, very quickly. Flicking the lights in the kitchen on, shrugging from jackets, boots, they moved to warm themselves by the log burner.

"What're you doing," asked Aaron a few minutes later as Jackson went to rummage, to fumble, in the cupboard tucked under the stairs that hid the hoover, the ironing board.

Jackson looked over his shoulder at him, a smile touching the corners of his lips, his dark eyes sparkling, even in the subdued light.

"Switching on the hot tub, give it an hour or so to heat up," he kept his eyes fixed on Aaron's face, a single eyebrow raised as he ran out of words, as he left the sentence hanging in the air, not needing to explain.

"It's freezing!" exclaimed Aaron. "And pitch dark."

"So?" questioned Jackson. "You'll be hot in the water," he let the tip of his tongue slide slowly over his top lip, emphasising the double meaning blatant in his words, "and we can leave the curtains open to get the light."

Aaron shook his head, "You're mad," he said.

"It's been said before," agreed Jackson cheerfully.

"So what are we gonna do for the next hour then?" asked Aaron.

"Keep our clothes on," he smirked. "Want a can?"

Taking cans from the fridge; they flopped down side by side on the sofa, Aaron taking command of the telly remote, channel hopped; pausing briefly as the local news came on, disconcerting with its mix of the familiar and the strange. Flicking again, he found cars bursting onto the screen. Sighing, twisting, settling himself more comfortably, his head cradled on Aaron's lap, his legs hanging over the arm of the sofa, Jackson closed his eyes, let his mind drift away from the excited chatter of cars, their engines, their performance, their price. Almost dozing, he roused, just a little, as Aaron's fingers began, gently, hardly touching, to rub lightly over his hair; hypnotic, repetitive movements, letting him sink into the tender caresses. Lower, feeling his fingers teasing short strands of his hair, winding through his cropped curls, then drifting lower, feeling his ear stroked, each whorl traced with a single, caressing finger.

"That tickles," murmured Jackson, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Thought you were asleep," replied Aaron, not taking his eyes from the television.

"How can I sleep with this crap blaring out?

"Just cos you've no taste; they're ace, real dream machines."

"Dream machines!" questioned Jackson, his voice incredulous. He opened his eyes, lifted his head from the pillow of Aaron's lap. "What the hell's going on your head? Cheesy cliché cars."

"Like I said, no taste!" teased Aaron.

"Can't have," retorted Jackson, "I'm going out with you, aren't I?" Fully awake now, he sat up. "I'm going to check the hot tub.

Leaving Aaron still gazing in rapt attention at the cars on the screen, Jackson grabbed his jacket, slid his feet into his boots and slipped out of the door nearest to the tub.

Even though it was still early, the air felt freezing already. Pulling back the cover on the hot tub, he dipped his fingers into the water, felt the contrast with the bubbling heat to the cold air biting his face, his exposed hand. Heaving off the cover completely, watching the steam, the bubbles rising for a moment, Jackson smiled. Aaron was right; this was mad.

"Right! Get your kit off then!" he said, scurrying back into the warmth. "It's ready." He dropped his jacket on to the back of the chair and began peeling off his clothes. "You need a hand or something?"

"Maybe in a few minutes," said Aaron, standing, pulling his hoodie over his head, not bothering to undo the zip, then quickly shoving his trackkies and boxers down together over his slim hips.

"You hoping for something," asked Jackson, nodding as the downward journey of Aaron's clothes exposed his already hard cock.

"Well it's happened every other time we've been in that hot tub," he smirked teasingly. "I can't help it if you can't keep your hands off me."

"Erm...I think you'll find you're just as bad," countered Jackson. "You ready then?"

"You putting boots on to go over the snow?" asked Aaron.

"Nah, I'm just making a dash for it; it'll be better than messing about taking them off," said Jackson. "Ready?"

"No, but go for it anyway."

They opened the door, the freezing air hitting their warm skin, bitingly cold; colder than they had believed possible, cold enough to banish the breath from them as they gasped, as they sprinted across snow; so cold that their bare feet felt on fire.

One second! Two! A mad dash across the few freezing yards to the bubbling warmth.

"The door!" yelled Aaron. In the lead, he glanced back, checking to see Jackson was behind him, seeing instead, the door to the chalet still open, allowing the bitter air to penetrate the building.

"Shit!" exclaimed Jackson, skidding back, hurling it shut, launching himself back towards the simmering cauldron, leaping the sides to splash beside Aaron in the welcoming heat. Gasping, gulping air, he plunged straight under the water, welcoming the heat thawing the cold that had so quickly eaten in to the very heart of him; seconds, it had only taken seconds.

Staying under as long as he could, letting the warm water envelope him, creating his own world, suddenly cut off from reality, for a moment nothing was real but the water, he was the water. He knew he wasn't alone, even before the hands of his lover found him, touched him; he knew he was near-by, could feel his movements through the water, feel him coming closer, searching for him, needing him.

The water lent fluidity to their movements, a grace; floating, Jackson felt Aaron make contact, drawing them together as his fingers, his hand slid across his body, finding the hard bones of his hip, reaching up his flank until he could hug him to him, uniting them; as their toes, their feet met, their legs entwined, their bodies moved close enough to banish water between them.

Breaking through the surface, drawing breath into lungs almost bursting, Aaron gave him almost no time to gasp the much need air before he covered Jackson's lips with his own, his hands cupping Jackson's face pulling him into his kiss, his ardent, hungry kiss; the kiss of a man deprived too long.

The only light spilled out through the windows of the chalet, a dim yellow glow reflecting on the snow, giving just enough light to illuminate the tub; beyond, quickly fading, it was dark, blind nothingness; a blanket surrounding their world.

Lips parting at last, in the half light, they smiled, almost shyly, at each other.

Sliding out of Aaron's grasp, just a little, yet not letting go of his hand; Jackson moved to the side of the tub. There was a ridge, a moulded seat, running the circumference of the tub; Jackson sat, drawing Aaron to him, on top of him, until he was sitting on his lap.

In the dim light, Aaron didn't take his eyes off Jackson's face, Jackson's eyes, dark pools catching the movement, the reflection, of the water in their dancing lights. His fingers though, he let trail gently, first down his face, tracing the outline of his chin through the soft, damp, curls of hair. Lower, under the water, following the muscles defined on his chest, his abdomen, lower, towards his groin; unknowingly, Aaron bit his lip in concentration.

Finding what his fingers were searching for, were wanting; he grasped Jackson's cock, gently at first, teasing. Moving his hand, tugging him; Jackson let his head rest against Aaron's shoulder, one hand sliding round his waist, the other finding Aaron's cock, mirroring his movements.

"Jackson!" breathed Aaron; the word escaping his lips almost a groan, low and urgent. "Ah Jackson, I want you so much," he whispered, "but I can't let you go inside me just now; too sore, even with the water."

"It's okay babes." Jackson murmured into his shoulder, "I know, me too. I won't hurt you."

Sliding his hand lower down Aaron's back, waiting as he changed his position, as he knelt, his knees either side of Jackson's legs, letting the water help support him, Jackson let his hand move lower still. Feeling the round swell of his buttocks, feeing the muscles stretched at the top of his legs, Jackson let his hand caress, explore, move closer, even as his hand stayed on Aaron's cock; even as Aaron teased, tormented him, playing with his own cock.

Reaching, stretching his fingers to their fullest length, Jackson could just feel the puckered star of Aaron's arse; he let his fingers slide over it, feeling it desperate to welcome him, feeling it making a liar of Aaron's words. Round, around he moved one finger, gently teasing, encouraging, demanding; answering, he pushed, just a little, barely entering his lover, yet feeling the sudden rush, the building of emotion together. Such little movements, such overwhelming feelings taking control of them flinging them together, higher, harder, joining them, reaching a crescendo, coming together; the mix of heat and bitter cold, the mix of their love, their lust mindlessly taking them. Exploding! Uniting them! Exhausting them!

Afterwards, in the semi-darkness, caressed by the gently rippling water, they quietly floated in each others arms; the moment was perfect.

...

_Thanks everyone who reviews, it means a lot. I was kind of planning to keep this story quite light; there is enough angst and drama in real life Emmerdale (an oxymoron I know) so I hope that's ok. Although I can always change my mind! ;-) What do you think?_


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

"Do you have to do that while I'm eating," moaned Aaron as he sat across the table from Jackson, munching toast. There was no real crossness in his words, more disbelief, incredulity, at Jackson sitting, scribbling; at his choice of subject.

"Just seizing the moment," replied Jackson slowly, his eyes flicking between Aaron and the paper, his concentration centred on his task, his hand moving quickly, drawing. "And you do food porn so well!" His eyes flashed, sparkling with mischief, to Aaron's face for a moment.

Aaron stuck his tongue out at Jackson; he didn't really understand, but Jackson had always had a thing about him eating, ever since they first met, first started dating, the first meal they shared; a curry, popadoms; he smiled, remembering.

"Do you want that bit of toast?" he asked, nodding to the ignored slice on a plate, pushed away from Jackson.

"No, you have it," said Jackson absently.

Aaron reached across, helped himself to the toast, cold and solidly crisp now, but still edible.

"You hardly ever do it when we're at home," Aaron idly commented.

"No time, always too much else to do," said Jackson, briefly looking up again, catching Aaron's eyes on him; he smiled. "Do you want to see it?"

"Course," said Aaron, slipping the last corner of toast into his mouth, licking the melted butter from his fingers; one by one.

Jackson turned the large drawing pad towards him, holding it so that he could see it.

"It's not finished yet," said Jackson, his defensive tone masking the anxiety he felt at showing Aaron the picture, even though it was not the first he had drawn of him, had shown him.

Aaron looked at the pencil drawing, a drawing that focused on his hands, holding a slice of toast. Somehow the rest of him, his face, his body, were more fluid, ethereal, insignificant; he was pulled in towards the image of his hands...of hands...were they really his hands? It was a strange picture; he couldn't quite find the words in his head to explain what he meant; he only recognised that it was as much about Jackson as him.

"It's different," he said, non-committally. "What else have you got to do to it?"

"Dunno really... just highlight... detail..." replied Jackson, turning the picture, gazing at it thoughtfully.

"Don't over work it though," said Aaron, knowledgably.

"Oh ha ha!" Jackson replied scornfully. "You've been listening to my mother too much!"

"Sounded good though, didn't I?"

"Ummm," mumbled Jackson, not making it clear whether he was agreeing or disagreeing with Aaron. "You never fancied having a go?"

"Did it in school, in art," answered Aaron, beginning to gather the empty plates and mugs from the table. "Rubbish though."

"Nah, anyone can draw," said Jackson, "they just didn't appreciate your style!"

"Stick men and trees that a five year old could draw!" he replied laughing, pouring scorn on himself.

"Did you enjoy it?" questioned Jackson

"Hated it! The teacher was a bitch," Aaron said cheerfully. "Although it improved when she was off and they got a replacement..." he paused, "...he was hot."

"Whoa Livsey! Is that you just admitting you fancied a teacher at school?" Jackson grinned at him.

"No!" Aaron scowled at him, "well not really...ok maybe," he prevaricated. "I'm going out to clear the snow off the car," he added, turning, but not quickly enough to hide the sudden rush of colour to his face.

Jackson watched him, smiling to himself as he pulled on his boots, hoodie and jacket. It was rare for Aaron to admit to any feelings for anyone; there had been that kid who stayed down the road from him; but a teacher; Jackson loved the cheesiness of it, the cliché. Everyone had to have a teacher they fancied.

With Aaron crashing out of the door, he idly began flipping back through the pages of his sketch pad; they were mostly pictures of Aaron, mostly from the summer. A couple of pages were missing, the only evidence that they had once been there, the frayed edges of the torn remnant of paper running the length of the spine. He smiled; remembering every line of the pictures; Aaron, wearing only a tee shirt smiling shyly at him; Aaron, bare naked, lying on the sofa in that very room, looking at him, lust captured in his eyes. Fingering the torn pages he half wished those pages were still there, chronicling their relationship, yet he knew exactly what had happened to those pages, where they were. Not long after they had got home from their holiday, Hazel had taken them, had them framed, beautifully framed; proud of her son's talent, at peace with his love. They hung in their bedroom now; Paddy would have been happy to have them in the living room at Smithy; he wouldn't have minded, he had to admit they looked better than he expected framed; but it was Aaron, he had vetoed the idea, admitting to Jackson he would feel exposed to have them so publically displayed.

Looking at the new picture, Jackson sighed; he wasn't sure if it was really working. Despite what he had said to Aaron, he decided to leave it alone; suddenly it had lost its lustre for him.

There was a yard brush on the decking, somewhere near the hot tub; Aaron had seen it before the snow fell, obliterating so much. He stomped round the chalet, his feet making new tracks through the untrampled patches of snow. It was over twenty-four hours since the snow fell; in that time it had lost its fluffy freshness, there was a crisp brittleness to it now, crunching under his feet.

He found the brush without too much trouble and began clearing the snow, inches deep, from the car. As soon as the roof around the driver's side door was clear, he opened it, managing not to let too much snow onto the seat, slid in, then switched on the engine, thinking to let it tick over, defrost the windscreen, as he worked.

In the distance he heard an engine, a drone beneath the rumble of the idling Megane, coming closer; slowly, steadily; he listened, trying to place it.

Looking towards the canal, towards the path linking the chalets to the outside world, he saw a quad bike cresting the snowy ridge; a quad bike pulling a trailer, heading toward the chalet. Roaring to a standstill beside him, the driver began unwrapping his scarf from his face, even as he began to speak.

"Hi Aaron!" called Calum, behind him another well wrapped figure, a figure that looked too small, too slight to be his father

"Hi Calum," Aaron rested the brush against the half cleared car. "What's doing?"

Calum killed the engine. "Just topping up the logs at the chalets for my dad, you're number three. This is Dougie, y'know." The last words were hurried, skimmed over, almost as if they weren't important.

Hearing them, catching Calum's gaze intent upon him, Aaron knew they were important, knew that this was the lad Calum had spoken of yesterday. "Hi Dougie, I'm Aaron," he nodded towards the second muffled figure on the quad, receiving an answering nod in return.

"You heading out? Need the wee plough to clear the snow for you?" asked Calum.

"Nah, was just clearing the snow off the car, don't think we're going anywhere in it. Are those logs for us?" he nodded towards the wood piled high in the trailer.

"Yeah, we'll just go round the back and unload them into your log shed."

"Jackson's inside if you want a coffee, a warm or something after," offered Aaron, unsure even as the words came out of his mouth why he was virtually inviting them in. No, he reflected, he knew exactly why he was being friendlier than he perhaps otherwise might have been; he could see himself in the lad in front of him. He didn't have his aggression though he thought wryly; but he could see the confusion, the fear in his eyes.

"Well, we'll maybe just say hello when we're done," replied Calum hesitantly.

"Fine. Whatever," said Aaron, not wanting to sound as though he was bothered either way. "Like I said, we'll probably be around all day."

Aaron watched as Calum started the engine then roared away, faster then was necessary, faster than was safe, around to the log shed, out of his sight. He allowed himself a small smile; there wasn't really such a difference in their ages, yet Calum seemed such a kid; or maybe it was just him feeling old. He turned back to the car, opened the door again, reached in and turned the CD player on; letting the music fill the air, fill his head, as he continued brushing the thick snow away.

It was some minutes later when he heard the quad roaring away from their log shed, heading out of sight somewhere; the noise of its engine quickly growing fainter.

"You saw Calum and his mate then?" asked Jackson a few minutes later when Aaron returned to the chalet.

"Yeah, briefly," said Aaron, peeling off his hoodie, stepping out of the borrowed wellies.

"He stuck his head round the door, said 'hi'. I said he could come back later if he wanted," Jackson looked at Aaron as he spoke. "You okay with that?"

"Yeah, course," said Aaron. "It's not that long ago..." he left the sentence hanging in the air, knowing that Jackson would understand without him explaining.

"Yeah," agreed Jackson. "So, what d'you want to do today?"

"Go back to bed for the afternoon?" Aaron said hopefully.

"Erm...no," said Jackson. "Calum might appear at any time and he's already seen our undies scattered about the place without catching us at it in the middle of the afternoon."

Aaron pulled a face at Jackson, but his eyes sparkled with mischief, despite the rejection. "Just have to be a DVD then."

"Have to be," Jackson smiled back at Aaron. "Besides, you agreed you were a bit sore."

"Yeah, shame your mum didn't include the strawberry lube after all," said Aaron. "Don't suppose they sell it in the village."

"I don't expect they do," said Jackson cheerfully. "You'll just have to wait to get your little sore arse fucked again, won't you?"

Aaron said nothing, just smiled, but his eyes flicked over Jackson's body, undressing him.

They picked a DVD; it was one they had seen before, gently risqué, but innocuous enough to leave playing should they have a young visitor.

They lay together on the sofa, Aaron lying length ways, Jackson between his legs, resting back against his chest. It was comfortable, stretched out together, watching...half watching the film. Aaron let his fingers twist through the short curls at Jackson's temple, occasionally letting his fingers stray to his ear, down the soft skin at the back of his neck.

He wasn't really that interested in the film; he closed his eyes, not to doze, although perhaps he could; but just to sink into the subtle movement of his fingers. He wasn't aware that his hand was moving lower, playing with the chain at Jackson's neck, sliding under the material of his tee shirt. He could feel the hardness of his breast bone, the curving strength of his muscles; suddenly, almost unexpectedly, his fingers reached his nipple, sliding gently over the tiny bud, letting his thumb rub over it, again, a second time, a little harder feeling a clenching knot of desire in his groin.

The film slid from Jackson's consciousness, yet he tried not to show how much the tender, teasing caresses were turning him on; happy to enjoy the sensations until Aaron became too demanding, or he became too needing, whichever came first.

It was his breathing that gave him away; changing, becoming deeper, harder as Aaron's fingers continued their pleasurable torment of the nipple he could reach. Unable to help himself, Jackson arched his back, just a little, pushing his chest into Aaron's fingers, into his caress, every nerve in his body alive.

"Gotcha!" whispered Aaron, a note of triumph in his voice.

"You so have," gasped Jackson, moving, squirming upwards a little until his mouth could reach Aaron's, until he could kiss him hungrily; until Aaron's hand could reach lower, unbuttoning the top button of his jeans on its way, reaching lower to his groin, finding his cock, already hard, already needing him.

Moving together, Jackson pushed his hips back into Aaron, rhythmically stretching, pushing, even as Aaron worked his cock, heightening his excitement, their kisses becoming more urgent.

Knowing he was getting closer now, Aaron broke their kiss, shifted his position a little; he wanted to watch Jackson cum, watch the play of emotions across his face, watch the tension build until he couldn't hold back the explosion any longer, watch as he shot his load over his hand, his chest maybe even onto his face, ready for Aaron to lick off...perhaps.

His free arm held Jackson tightly across his chest, holding him close, holding him so there was no escape; he could feel the vibrations of his deep, groaning, desperate breathing, gasping as he came closer...closer...

"You're gonna cum for me, Jackson," he whispered. "You know I'm watching you, don't you? And loving what I'm seeing, your cock in my hand, swollen and leaking juice already; maybe I should take you in my mouth, suck you off. Maybe you should tell me how much you want me."

Beneath his fingers, Jackson groaned, almost beside himself, Aaron's words tipping him towards the precipice

"And you do want me, don't you Jackson? You don't want me to stop touching you, do you? Stop jerking you off? Maybe you even want me to fuck your arse...however sore it is"

Jackson came! Hugely, wonderfully, magically; reaching his crescendo, exploding; taking Aaron with him, at first they could do no more than cling to each other through it, relishing it, each gasping for scant breath, holding each other as gradually their breathing eased, returned to normal.

"That was nice," whispered Jackson, once the ability to speak returned to him.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Aaron stood, pulling his boxers, trackkies and tee shirt back on; in his bare feet, he padded through to the open plan kitchen, filled the kettle and switched it on, then spooned coffee into two mugs, ready.

Jackson eased his jeans over his hips but didn't bother fastening them, letting them hang loosely, almost ready to fall as he took the mug from Aaron, then turning, perching on the log burner as he took his first sip. He hadn't got his tee shirt on yet, his body was still covered with a glistening sheen of sweat from their love-making and on his make-shift seat; he was warm enough.

He watched Aaron pace restlessly to the window, nursing his own mug of coffee.

"Its getting dark already," he muttered, staring into the dark inky dusk.

"Well, it's almost the middle of December, nearly the shortest day; were you wanting to go out somewhere or something?" asked Jackson reasonably.

"No, just buzzing after…" he paused, "…just after!"

"No idea what you mean," Jackson kept his face straight. "You'll need to tell me just exactly what you are talking about."

"If you think I'm gonna talk dirty when we're not…we're not…" Aaron floundered, "...y'know!"

"Ah, but you do it so well," teased Jackson.

Aaron tried to scowl at him, unable to make it reach his eyes, make it real. He was about to answer him when a movement outside caught his eye.

"Ah shit!" he exclaimed. "I think that's Calum and his pal! You'd better get your shirt on!"

"Nah!" exclaimed Jackson. "I need to run up for a shower; I'm covered in...stuff." He grabbed his shirt and was heading up the stairs, even as the knock came at the door, "you'll manage for a few minutes. Won't be long."

Glaring at his retreating back, at his bare feet running up the staircase, Aaron moved to open the door.

"Hi," he said, standing back to let Calum and Dougie into the chalet.

"Hello," Calum began awkwardly. "Jackson said it would be okay to...he said..."

"Yeah, sure, it's fine, come in," said Aaron, mentally shaking himself, reminding himself what it was like; the questions, the confusion, struggling to understand why you had these feelings, desperate to run away from those same feelings.

"D'you want coffee, tea, lager...actually, I suppose I shouldn't offer you lager, should I?"

"Like you think we don't drink?" smiled Calum.

"Like I don't want to get into bother with your mum, who might tell Hazel, seeing as they are so matey; who would then make my life hell!"

"We won't tell if you won't," said Calum, his smile growing broader.

Aaron reached into the fridge, taking out four cans, handing one each to Calum and Dougie. Crossing to the sofa, he quickly glanced over the leather seats, checking, before waving to the two lads to make themselves comfortable, then setting the last can on the small table, waiting for Jackson's return. He hoped he wouldn't be long; he felt awkward, unsure what to say.

"You still at school then, Dougie," he asked. He knew it was lame, he even knew the answer; Calum had told them when he had first spoken to them, but it was all he could think of to say.

"Yeah," replied Dougie. "We're in the same year, leave in the summer though."

"Oh yeah? What're you going to do?"

"Catering," replied Dougie. "I've got a kind of sponsored training place at one of the big hotels in Edinburgh; learning part time with them, on the job, and part time at college."

"That's cool," said Aaron. "I've got a…" he paused, trying to think exactly what relation Marlon was to him. "A cousin," he settled on, "he's a chef in our local back home. What about you?" he asked Calum.

"I'm going to college; journalism. In Edinburgh too. We thought we'd share a flat," he smiled, quickly, at Dougie. "If we can afford to, it's hellish expensive," he added.

Aaron looked between the two lads; he remembered what Calum had said yesterday; had something changed between them he wondered.

Interrupting his thoughts, he heard footsteps…then saw bare feet appearing down the stairs. Relief swept through him; any feelings of anxiety, of discomfort evaporating as Jackson came down into the room.

Smiling at Aaron, in a fluid, sensuous movement Jackson let his hand sweep round the side of his head, touching his neck, moving around his shoulders, letting his fingers appear reluctant to leave the touch of his body as catching his eyes, he smiled before leaning forward, picking up the can of lager from the table.

"This one mine, is it?" he asked cheerfully, pinging the ring pull open before anyone had a chance to say anything. Looking towards Dougie, he caught a glimpse of a flush creeping up his face as he quickly turned, looked out of the window.

For a while the conversation roamed over safe, innocuous topics, their school, their plans, where Aaron and Jackson could visit during their holiday. And all the time, Jackson tried not to see the rapid glances between Calum and Dougie.

"D'you want to stay for something to eat," offered Jackson a while later; it was full dark yet still early. "Won't be anything exciting, but you're welcome."

"Could do…if it's really ok with you," said Calum, unsure again. "What d'you think Doug?"

"Well…" Dougie hesitated, looking intently at Calum, trying to send him a message.

"I told them, Dougie!" Calum suddenly exclaimed, the words bursting from him. "I told them what happened! How it felt! How I felt!" He turned away from Dougie then, speaking to Aaron and Jackson. "We talked...last night! For hours! I told him how I felt!" Calum paused; looking round at them all, his eyes wide with fear, with apprehension. "I told him I thought I was gay and...and I fancied him," his voice shook with emotion as he spoke. "He didn't freak, but he didn't want me to say anything...even though you're gay." He stopped abruptly as though his thoughts had run out of steam.

For a moment, none of them spoke; the silence was palpable, tangible. Then Jackson stood up.

"I'll stick some pasta on," he said, going to the kitchen, opening cupboards, rattling pans. Across the open plan room, he heard music start, killing the silence. He took another four cans out of the fridge, standing, pausing for a moment, staring into the body of the fridge, seeing nothing as his thoughts ranged, testing words, ideas, trying to decide what he could say...should say.

He walked back to the seats, dropping down on the wide arm of the sofa where Aaron lounged, passing the cans between them.

"So!" he said, pausing, looking between Calum and Dougie, his eye briefly catching Aaron's, realising that he felt adrift, out of his depth and it was up to him to break the awkwardness that had filled the room after Calum's announcement. "The world hasn't collapsed," he continued. "How do you feel?" he asked Dougie directly.

Dougie looked up at the ceiling, out of the window, anywhere but at Jackson – or Calum.

"Okay...I think," he breathed, "it kinda makes sense..." He spoke almost to himself, pausing as one thought tumbled over another in his mind; his confusion reflected clearly on his face. "But I don't really understand...how do you know...really know?"

Jackson didn't answer straight away; he didn't have any sure answers, didn't have a magic wand to smooth their path.

"You don't know," he began, "or at least, at your age, you probably don't know for sure," he qualified, "and whatever you think now, about anything, you might change your mind twenty times over the years." He paused again, thinking. "It's really about exploring... not only yourself...your sexuality...but all the other things, thoughts and ideas, that make you, you." He stopped speaking, that all sounded very daunting, even to his own ears.

"You just need to keep an open mind," he continued. "And have fun," he glanced over at Aaron, "and stay safe," he added, not quite an afterthought. "Does that make sense to you?"

"Makes perfect sense to me," said Aaron quickly, forestalling another silence. "And your pasta's boiling over," he added cheerfully.

"Shite!" exclaimed Jackson, jumping up, rushing through to the kitchen to rescue the pan; the sudden burst of activity breaking the anxious tension that had gripped them all.

He was aware of a mobile beginning to ring as he scooped the pan from the stove, holding it above the heat as the bubbling water subsided. Aaron's ringtone; cut off sharply as he answered it, walked away from the younger lads, perched on the empty dining table.

Jackson looked at him, his face asking a question.

"Paddy"; mouthed Aaron silently, listening intently.

"No way, Paddy!" he exclaimed suddenly. "No fucking way! What the hell does he think he's doing, creeping out of the woodwork after all these years of not bothering a shit about me! After not believing a damned word I said; after chucking me out!"

The unexpected eruption of anger made them all stare.

Aaron hurled the phone onto the table, turned towards the window; his hands pushed to his face, rubbing over his short hair.

For a moment, no one said anything.

"Sorry," Aaron mumbled, turning back towards the room. He flung himself back into the chair. "My fucking father!" he said, shaking his head. Leaning back in the chair, he took some deep, steadying breaths. "Sorry," he repeated. "Did you manage to save the pasta, Jackson?"

"Yeah," Jackson answered. "It's ready; d'you still want some?"

"Course!" replied Aaron. "I'm not going to let that waste of space spoil my evening. Wouldn't mind another can though," he added, draining his last one.

Jackson took another can from the fridge, crossed the room to hand it to Aaron, keeping hold of the can for a moment longer than needed, touching his fingers, holding his eye, silently asking a question.

"Later," Aaron's wordless answer said; a hardly perceptible shake of his head. "I'll tell you later."

The evening passed with no further mention of the phone call from Paddy, of Aaron's furious reaction. It wasn't until they were alone, in bed, in the dark, that Jackson knew he would speak about it.

He knew Aaron wasn't asleep; he was lying on his stomach, hugging his pillow under his chin. Jackson lay on his side, saying nothing, letting his fingers trail gently up and down the length of Aaron's spine, feeling each ridge of bone, feeling the gently swell of his buttocks; content to wait until Aaron was ready to talk.

The silence stretched on; at last Jackson heard the change in his breathing, heard him breathing in and knew he was preparing to tell him.

"Paddy had a phone call from my dad," he began quietly. "Seems his kid's ill, leukaemia or something. He's looking for a bone marrow donor, wanted me to be tested." He paused. "Apparently relatives often make compatible donors, although neither he nor Sandra is that good a match."

"So..." said Jackson, drawing the word out.

"So he's not bothered with me for years," snarled Aaron, the anger returning. "And now, when his kid, his son, is ill; suddenly he wants to know me again because I could be useful to him." Aaron turned, flinging himself around to face Jackson.

Jackson said nothing at first, only raising his eyebrows in question.

"Shit! I know! I know!" exclaimed Aaron, rolling so that he was staring absently at the ceiling.

"He's only a kid, Aaron," said Jackson quietly, reasonably. "It's not his fault that his dad, your dad, is an arsehole." He paused, "What do they want you to do?"

"They were going to phone the local surgery, arrange for the first blood test to be taken there; by the time we get home, they would know if it was a match."

"I wonder why he contacted Paddy, not your mum?" mused Jackson.

"Have you met my mum?" replied Aaron, a first touch of lightness, of humour in his voice. "He knew she would go off on one – big style - if he even suggested it to her."

"That's true enough," Jackson chuckled into the darkness.

For a moment there was silence again.

"I've got to do it, haven't I?" said Aaron at last; it wasn't really a question.

"Take your dad out of it, and it's just some sick kid that you don't know, but are willing to help because you're a nice guy."

Aaron smiled to himself, unseen; he shook his head a little. "No, you're the nice guy; it just rubs off on me a little, being with you."

"Just as well I think you're nice then, isn't it," whispered Jackson, letting his hand slide across Aaron's chest, rolling on top of him. "Very nice," he mumbled, his voice growing husky, as he buried his lips into Aaron's neck.

Forgetting, for the moment; Aaron kissed him back.

...

It didn't take long once the arrangements were made.

Aaron sat in the waiting room, brooding; he knew he was doing the right thing, that should make him feel better, but somehow, it didn't. He still hated the fact that his father could just shout and expect him to jump. And he did. However much he told himself it was for this kid, this half brother that he didn't know, it didn't ease the anger still hiding inside.

Called into the consulting room, baring his arm; he watched as the nurse fastened the tourniquet around it, allowing his vein to fill with blood. He watched as she slid the needle through his skin, into his vein, not flinching at the sharp, momentary, pain; watched her flicking the quick release on the tourniquet allowing the blood...his blood...to flow into the collection tubes.

"What d'you want to do now?" asked Jackson, rushing to catch up with him as he left the surgery without glancing at him.

He was just glad to get out of the place, to put the thought of it from his mind, at least until the results came back; he had forgotten Jackson, waiting for him, so full had his mind been of other things, of another person.

"Go for a long walk, go and get drunk, go and fuck your brains out!" Aaron stopped, waiting for Jackson to stop beside him. "I don't know...I just need to get him out of my head."

"And if it comes back that you are a match?" questioned Jackson.

"Then I'll deal with it," Aaron looked at Jackson. "We'll deal with it. But just now, I want my holiday back!" He began to walk back towards the village. "You coming?"

"Not yet," grinned Jackson, his dark eyes sparkling with suggestion, "but I'm hopeful for later on!"

Aaron laughed.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

"Jeez! I hate the end of holidays," moaned Aaron, throwing the last of the bags down the stairs. "How come we seem to have so much more stuff when we haven't been anywhere?"

"Well we did get up to town once," reasoned Jackson, jumping out of the way as the bag crashed uncomfortably close to him.

"But we didn't buy that much," countered Aaron.

Jackson said nothing, allowing Aaron to maintain his own perception of their shopping trip; as he moved the last of the bags from the bottom of the stairs to a place nearer the door.

Already there was a bleakness about the chalet; with their things, the assorted clutter of a week's stay packed away; the rooms looking lifeless, unlived in, unloved.

Most of the snow had gone; but opening the door as they lifted the bags outside to the car, the freezing air hit them, seeping speedily into the warmth of the chalet.

Jackson packed the car as well as he could, using the numerous plastic bags to fill odd corners between thair bags; glad that Cain hadn't lent them anything smaller than the Megane.

"D'you want a last coffee?" asked Aaron once everything had been stowed in the car.

"I'd really rather get away...get past, y'know," said Jackson, not explaining any more, knowing Aaron would understand. "Maybe stop a couple of hours or so down the road."

"I'll text Calum quickly, let him know that's us away," said Aaron, sliding into the passenger seat, reaching for his phone, as Jackson locked the chalet door before jumping into the seat beside him.

"It's been good though, hasn't it," said Aaron, clicking send, then across at looking at Jackson.

"It has!" agreed Jackson, not looking at Aaron as he drove slowly up onto the tow path, towards the village; yet Aaron could hear the smile of happy memories in his voice.

They drove slowly along the track until they reached the tarmac. At the end of a drive, a figure well wrapped up against the cold was waiting, waving. Aaron opened the window, letting cold air into the car against the heater working full blast.

"Here's the keys," he said, handing the chalet keys out. "Tell your mum 'thanks'!"

"I will," replied Calum, pocketing them. He leant further into the car. "And thanks yourselves guys," he said, his voice a little hesitant, unsure. "I've...it's been great being able to talk to you," he finished quickly.

"No worries," said Jackson, leaning over Aaron.

"Keep in touch, eh?" said Aaron, "let us know how you get on with your mum and stuff."

"Will do," smiled Calum, moving back from the car as Aaron closed the window again. He raised his hand as they drove away.

Hitting the main road, turning south, they made good time; soon passing through the small town they would be happy never to see again, stopping twenty miles further on for the coffee Aaron had suggested earlier. Those first miles, the roads were empty, the countryside bleak, matching the slight sadness of their homebound mood.

"What time did you tell Finn and Greg we'd be arriving?" asked Jackson as they munched burgers in a motorway service station restaurant.

"Mid afternoon," replied Aaron between mouthfuls. "How long d'you think we'll be? I can text Finn if we're gonna be much later."

"Nah, should be okay," replied Jackson. "A couple of hours I reckon, not much more, depending on the traffic round Edinburgh."

It was nearer three hours later that they pulled into the drive of the large vicarage in Hexham. The sky was already beginning to fade to a dark blue as the light retreated; several of the windows of the building were blazing with light, curtains undrawn, shining their welcome.

They were hardly out of the car before the front door swung open, and the now familiar chunky figure, with its unruly mop of blond curls, briefly blotted out the light as he rushed out to meet them.

"Great to see you guys! Good journey? Can I help with any of your stuff?" Finn enthused, hugging them both

"I think it's just the one bag we need for tonight," said Jackson, opening the back door, lifting a bag out.

"Great! Great!" said Finn, "Come away in out of the cold; Greg's been busy cooking all day." He led them into the house to the heart of the house, to the kitchen. Greeting them, Greg was already spooning coffee into four mugs while warm smells of delicious cooking filled the air, pots stood lined up on the Aga adding to the homeliness drawing them in.

"Coffee first," said Greg. "Dinner will be an hour or so yet," he placed the mugs of coffee on the large table, indicating they should all sit around it while he carried on with his preparations.

"So did you have a good holiday?" asked Finn, helping himself to a biscuit from the plate already on the table.

"Yeah, sound!" replied Jackson. "Had quite a lot of snow the day after we got there, so we didn't really do very much; not that we planned to anyway."

"I'm sure you needed the chance to relax, unwind," said Finn, for a moment his laughing blue eyes became serious. "You'll be glad it's over...the trial...and the result was the right one, for you."

"Yeah," said Aaron, pausing for a moment, "though sometimes I think...oh! I don't know!" He slurped at his coffee, covering his confusion, his struggle to express an idea that had lurked, almost hidden at the back of his mind for the past week.

"They had choices," said Finn quietly. "The choice to walk past or do...what they did...was theirs, no one else's. You, neither of you, bear no guilt." He looked from Aaron to Jackson, hoping to convince them with no more words. "Right!" he said brightly, changing the mood. "You ready to take the old girl out for a quick spin?"

"Sure! Really!" exclaimed Aaron excitedly. "You okay with that Jackson?"

"Course," laughed Jackson. "You boys go and play cars; Greg and I'll be fine"

Aaron grinned, his delight obvious. Quickly dropping a kiss onto Jackson's mouth, he followed Finn outside to the garage.

"We'll just go through the town and out onto the bypass for a few miles," said Finn. "But no boy racer stuff; she's an old lady!"

He waited until they had left the lights of the town behind them before he spoke, really spoke, again. He knew it was easier to talk with some distraction, with something to concentrate on, with something else, anything else to look at rather than the person asking the awkward questions.

"So have the nightmares gone now?" he asked quietly as they drove away from the town on the empty dual carriageway.

For a moment, Aaron didn't answer. He let the silence stretch; thinking, trying to decide what to say, how much to say; but it was Finn beside him in the car; what could he say.

"More or less," he answered truthfully, admitting more than he had even to Jackson.

"More or less?" repeated Finn slowly.

"There's been one or two since...but nothing like before," he added quickly.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Aaron said, trying to sound reassuring, for himself as much as for Finn, "and I'm sure it won't be long before they've gone completely."

"Does Jackson know?" Finn asked.

In the darkness, Aaron shook his head. "No," he answered. "They've been nothing, fragments, almost unmemorable. I don't want him to worry...he's done enough of that."

"So long as you're okay?"

Before Aaron had a chance to answer, the sound of a mobile ringing interrupted the conversation.

"That's mine; can you reach in my pocket and get it?" Aaron asked, leaning a little away from Finn, making his pocket more accessible.

"It's someone called Paddy...oh! Paddy!" Finn said, reading the screen, realising who it was that was phoning Aaron.

"Tell him I'll call him back," said Aaron.

"It's Finn here," he said, flipping the phone open and holding it tight to his ear. "Aaron's driving but he'll call you back."

"Yeah, that's the one, a Triumph TR3A, 1960," he laughed.

"Paddy knows nothing about cars," interrupted Aaron impatiently, "what does he want?"

"I've to ask you what you want," said Finn into the phone. Listening for a moment or two, he turned to Aaron. "He says the letter's come."

"Tell him to open it," said Aaron. "Open it!" he shouted, intending Paddy to hear him over the phone.

"Did you hear that?" Finn asked into the phone.

"Is he opening it?" asked Aaron impatiently.

"Yes," said Finn. "Hold on." He was silent, listening intently as at the other end of the phone, Paddy opened the envelope. "Right...right...I'll tell him," he said to Paddy before turning to Aaron. "Not a compatible match," he said, a slight question in his tone.

"Yes!" breathed Aaron, relief flooding through him. He would have done it, for the stranger, the unknown child; he would have pushed the unknown brother – half brother – from his mind. He wouldn't have done it for his father at all; but now it didn't matter; the match wasn't close enough.

He told Finn about it as they drove back towards Hexham; his first angry, outraged reaction, his first refusal to be tested to be a potential bone marrow donor; his glance at Jackson's face and knowing that he had no choice but to help this unknown half brother. But now the choice, the chance, had been taken from him.

There was nothing really for Finn to say, yet he talked quietly as Aaron drove, said the right words, soothing, reassuring words. As the lights of Hexham came back into view they lapsed into silence.

Aaron turned the car into the long vicarage drive, pulling carefully into the garage; he came to a halt, turned the engine off and listened to the sound of the purring engine dying away. As always, it had felt good to talk to Finn, to listen to Finn talk; calming him.

Jackson and Greg were sitting at the large table in the kitchen when they walked back in to the house, each nursing a can of lager; more cans, mostly full, were on the table in front of them. Greg handed on to each of them as they passed to reach seats.

The evening was easy, comfortable, full of conversation, laughter, good food, lager.

"Ah that was a good evening!" exclaimed Aaron a few hours later, throwing himself fully clothed onto the bed. "Greg is a hell of a good cook!"

"He is, isn't he," agreed Jackson, beginning to slowly, seductively, peel off his clothes, watching Aaron watching him.

"We can't," said Aaron, horror...mock horror...filling his voice.

"Why not? " questioned Jackson. "Because we're in a vicarage? What do you think Finn and Greg do? Sleep in separate beds? Go somewhere else to fuck?"

"Well, no, I know they don't," said Aaron, letting his eyes wander over Jackson's now nearly naked body. "It just feels kind of strange, someone else's house, a vicar..." Aaron let his words trail away; his reluctance fading with them as the sight of Jackson quickly began to arouse him. Sitting up, he began removing his own clothes; lifting his hips to slid out of his trackkies, slide under the covers.

Seconds later, Jackson joined him, kissed him, was kissed by him; the night began.

...

The wintery sun was already shining when Aaron opened his eyes; he was still comfortably sleepy but knew it must be well into the morning. Looking for Jackson, looking to the other side of the bed, he found it empty; reaching out, the space between the downie and bottom sheet was cold; Jackson had been gone for some time.

Following the sound of the radio, the sound of voices a short while later, he found Jackson, Finn and Greg already in the kitchen, the debris of a continuing breakfast littering the table.

"I would have woken you," said Finn by way of greeting, "but Jackson said you were a grumpy git in the mornings and it was safer to let you wake up on your own!"

"No, Jackson is Mr Hyper Sunshine in the mornings, I'm just normal," growled Aaron good naturedly, accepting a mug of coffee from Greg as he sat at the table.

"What time are you heading?" asked Finn. "Will you be here for lunch? I've got a few things to do in the Abbey this morning, but they won't take me long."

For the first time, Aaron noticed that Finn was wearing his dog collar, his uniform, as he had been the first time they met almost six months ago.

"So long as we are away by early afternoon," said Aaron, looking to Jackson for silent confirmation as he spoke. "We don't want to be too late getting down the road.

It was cold but bright as they walked up the drive a while later, heading into the small town for wander; passing the morning, a little reluctant for the afternoon to arrive. All the shops were full of the sparkle and glitter of approaching Christmas; there were plenty of people bustling between one and the next; intent on making their purchases and heading home to their own fires.

It was pleasant just wandering, thought Aaron, making the most of the last day of their holiday; Cain would be expecting him at the garage first thing tomorrow morning, no excuses, and he knew Jackson had work lined up to take him through well into the new year. But just for the moment, it was nice just being together, savouring the last moments of holiday.

A couple of shops tempted them in; Jackson bought a scarf he thought Hazel would like while Aaron bought a couple of silly tree ornaments for his mum and Paddy; he supposed Paddy would have a tree this year.

Once again the vicarage kitchen was filled with tempting aromas when they returned.

"Smells good," said Jackson appreciatively. "What are you cooking?"

"Just soup," he answered, nodding towards the Aga.

Jackson lifted the lid of the pan he indicated, sniffing deeply at the gently bubbling soup. "You like cooking, Greg?" he asked.

"Just when I'm on holiday; no time during term time, then it's oven chips and burgers or pasta; quick and easy. Finn shouldn't be long; he said he'd be in by half past."

Even as he spoke they heard the back door open and close; Finn appeared, his black clerical robes flowing behind him.

"Just start putting the soup out if you want Greg," he said, "I won't be a minute."

They heard his feet pounding up the stairs; as Greg placed the last bowl of soup on the table, he reappeared, in civvies now.

"It's been great having you guys here," Finn said, tucking into his soup with gusto.

"Yeah, it's been good," agreed Aaron, even now, after knowing Finn for six months, it amused him to find himself friends with a vicar. "You'll need to come down to Emmerdale some time."

It was hard to drag themselves away, but the early afternoon was passing, and however much they might not want to, they had to be home that evening.

The journey didn't take too long, a couple of steady hours; faster when they reached the motorway. Even so, it was full dark when they pulled up in front of Smithy.

"Unload the car first, then a pint?" suggested Jackson.

"S'pose that's the sensible way to do it," agreed Aaron, although he would rather have just gone for a pint; Smithy was in darkness and he guessed Paddy, maybe even Hazel, were already in the Woolie.

It didn't take them long to pile the bags into the cottage, tumbled across the chairs in the living room; they could unpack them later…anytime. A pint was the important thing; to get them back into the way of being home after their holiday.

It was dark; the street was deserted, unusually Aaron linked his arm with Jackson's as they walked the short distance to the pub.

"Where're we going for our next holiday then," he laughed, turning, walking backwards a step or two as he caught Jackson to him, kissed him quickly, unsteadily, as they kept moving.

"Dunno," replied Jackson, "where d'you fancy?"

"Somewhere warm, sunny, with sand and…"

"You get that wherever you go!" interrupted Jackson, as Aaron slipped his arm out of his as he reached out to push open the door into the pub. "Even tonight in our own bed, if you're a good boy," he whispered teasingly, letting his hand brush quickly against Aaron's arse as he followed him into the pub.

The bar was busy, most of the tables were full, people were standing at the bar, waiting to be served or cradling their drinks in their hands, talking, gossiping. It seemed like most of the village were choosing to spend their evening in the Woolpack

They heard Chas before they saw her, her raucous laugh piercing the conversations around her; then found her sitting at a table with Charity and Gennie; cheerful witches round a cauldron of empty glasses.

Paddy and Hazel were propping up the bar and saw them as soon as they entered.

"Jackson!" exclaimed Hazel in obvious delight. "When did you get back? You should have text me, I'd have had something on for your tea. Was your holiday good? What about the weather? We saw you were supposed to have snow!"

"Hello to you too mother!" said Jackson. "Get us a pint and we'll tell you all about it."

Paddy was already ordering the drinks; the start of a pleasant evening catching up with everyone, receiving congratulations on the outcome of the court case which felt so long ago now to them.

Suddenly the door was flung open, pushed with a force so hard that it crashed loudly against the wall, the violent noise attracting everyone's attention, momentarily silencing the pub in shock.

Into the pub, into the silence, a man, taut with anger, strode into the space that opened up before him.

"Chas Dingle!" he demanded loudly, "where the fuck are you?"

Slowly standing, moving out from the protection of the table into the silence of every eye in the place upon her, Chas came towards the man.

"Hello Gordon," she said warily.

"I married you because you told me he was my son!" the pent up rage in his voice was clear. "Endured years of you – and him – because you told me he was my son! But you are a liar! A scheming liar! He's no son of mine!" He paused, looked around at the shocked expressions on faces all around him.

"Maybe you should tell him," he pointed at Aaron, "who the fuck his father is!"


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

"Maybe you should tell him who the fuck his father is!"

The words echoed into the sudden shocked silence of the pub. Aaron had heard of people feeling the blood drain from them; he hadn't believed it, not until now; now he could swear every drop of warm blood drained from his body, leaving ice in its place. Freezing ice, riveting him to the spot; he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Jackson! Paddy! Get him out of here!" Moving first, seizing up the situation, Edna left her table, left the open mouthed stares of Pearl, of Betty, moved to the shocked group at the bar.

Aaron felt arms around him, propelling him, unresisting, towards the door.

"This is private; family business; this isn't the place." Edna continued. "And you!" She turned, glaring at Gordon Livesy, "you should be ashamed of yourself, a grown man! Causing such a scene; embarrassing the lad!"

"Edna...right...thank you," Paddy mumbled, struggling to move, to rouse himself; as much in shock as everyone in the pub.

C'mon, we'll go back to Smithy," said Jackson, walking at Aaron's other side, moving with him away from the gawping, prying eyes, out of the pub.

A procession followed them; Paddy, Chas, Gordon Livesy, his face still as black as thunder, Charity, Cain, his face a dark mirror of Gordon Livesy's; clouded with anger for his family.

The freezing air enveloped them; Aaron could think of nothing but getting back to the familiar comfort of Smithy Cottage. He was aware of Jackson, of Edna, surprisingly, beside him. He knew there were people behind him, but at that moment didn't care who it was. Even as he walked the short distance between the Woolie and Smithy, his father's words echoed in his head. "Tell him who the fuck is father is!...who the fuck his father is!" His father...the man he thought of as his father, however inadequate; was now denying it, casting him aside. Well what did it matter; he'd been an arse as a father...it didn't matter...did it?

He flung himself into one of the armchairs, pushing the plastic bags from where they had dumped them such a short time before, onto the floor; replacing them with a cushion, clutched hard against his chest. Drawing his knees up, resting his feet on the edge of the seat, he buried his face into the stuffy comfort of the cushion, trying to blot out...everything.

"I'll put the kettle on; he needs tea, hot sweet tea," Edna's sharp, clipped tones was the only voice breaking the tense atmosphere.

"He doesn't drink tea," said Jackson, distractedly, pacing a little, glaring at Gordon Livesy.

"I think we all need tea," said Edna, ignoring him, disappearing into the kitchen.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" spat Chas venomously, finding her voice as soon as the door was shut behind them, rounding on her former husband. "Coming here, flinging accusations around, upsetting everybody!"

"I married you, Chas, on your sixteenth birthday, because you told me, swore to me, he was my son! But he's not! Is he Chas?" Holding her glare, returning it, he reached into his jacket pocket and flung a sheet of paper onto the table in the middle of the room. "There! Proof!" he snarled.

For a second, no one moved, then Paddy reached across and picked up the letter; the header familiar, one he had seen before; he glanced around at the expectant faces surrounding him before lowering his eyes to read.

"What do you mean?" Aaron's voice was muffed a little by the cushion still held close to him. "You married her on her sixteenth birthday? I thought you were eighteen when I was born?" He looked up, looked at Chas, waiting for an explanation.

It was Gordon who answered. "She was fourteen, only just fourteen, when you were born; when we got married, you were almost two." He spoke to Aaron, but his eyes, still full of anger, never left Chas's pale face.

"This says..." began Paddy slowly, uncertainly, "...this says there is no evidence of consanguinity between the two samples of submitted blood..."

"That means there is no blood relationship..." interrupted Gordon.

"I know what it means," snapped Paddy, as near to anger as he ever became.

"Wait a minute!" cut in Chas sharply. "What samples of submitted blood? What are you talking about?"

Gordon opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by Paddy, slightly raising his hand to stop him.

"Gordon's son is ill," began Paddy gently, "leukaemia. He phoned me just over a week ago, needing to get hold of Aaron, to ask him to take a blood test, to see if he could be a bone marrow donor."

"And nobody thought to ask me," Chas demanded, her voice shrill with anger, with indignation. "Why not? Why did you not phone me? Why am I the last to know?" Why..."

"Because we knew you'd go off on one – just like you are doing," growled Aaron, still holding the cushion to his stomach, but glaring now at his mother.

"So Aaron had a blood test while he was away, but your letter said nothing..." Paddy bumbled to a halt in his explanation. Turning, he began leafing through a pile of papers dumped haphazardly on the table. Finding the one he wanted, he began to read; "'the two submitted blood samples are not a close enough match for the possibility of bone marrow donation to be considered.'"

Gordon said nothing, only raising his eyebrows slightly, nodding, almost to himself.

"I would have done it," said Aaron quietly, looking up at him.

"Thank you," Gordon replied as quietly; for a moment they could have been alone.

"No! This is wrong!" shrieked Chas, breaking the moment as she moved towards them; only stopping as Paddy put out his hand, catching her arm.

"No! I'll tell you what's wrong," snarled Gordon, his anger returning. "You were playing around with someone else, with who knows how many other lads! And now you've been caught! You've been lying to us for years, but no more. Who was it Chas?" he paused. "If not for me, your kid has a right to know."

"Chas?" Charity said quietly, questioningly, stepping towards her.

If it was possible for Chas to get any paler, she did then; almost everyone was looking at her, silently watching her, silently judging her.

"No," she gasped, her voice quieter now, defeated. "I don't know what...this isn't fair...you can't make me say anything."

"Who was it, mum?" Aaron's voice was hardly above a whisper as he stood, still holding the forgotten cushion; he took a step towards her.

"No Aaron! Please!" Chas's voice broke on a sob as she took a step backwards.

"Who's my father? Tell me..." he shook his head, "...you can't stop now and leave me wondering, imagining God knows who..."

"Aaron...no..." Chas took another step backwards, colliding against another body; hands caught her arms; stopped her from stumbling; stopped her from running away.

Cain's hands were firm on her arms, gripping her, holding her against him. One hand rubbed her arm; just a little.

Chas twisted in his rough embrace until their eyes met briefly, sharply.

Aaron took a step backwards; he barely heard Charity's sharp intake of breath, coinciding with his stunned "No!"

Ice returned to his veins; for long, uncountable seconds he stood rooted to the spot; then a noise; a quiet mewling anguish filled his ears, his head, the room, as he tried to deny what seemed to be unravelling before him.

Suddenly he moved, bursting into life, twisting away from Chas, from Cain.

"No!" he almost shouted. "This isn't true! You're doing my head in! All of you!" He paused in his flight, looking between Gordon, Chas and Cain. "I'm out of here!" Pushing past Paddy, past Charity, ignoring Chas, he hauled the front door open.

"Aaron! Aaron!" screamed Chas to his retreating back. "I'm sorry! We were just kids! All of us! Just fooling around! Aaron!"

"I'll go after him; explain," said Cain quickly, beginning to move.

"No!" exclaimed Jackson, "I will; you've done enough, all of you!" For a second, his gaze swung between Chas, Cain and Gordon, then he was gone; the door slamming behind him.

In the kitchen doorway Edna stood, holding two cups of tea; the only sound in the room, the rattle of the cups against the saucers as her frail hands shook.

...

He wasn't far away when Jackson caught up with him; leaning against the wall of the now dark Woolpack, he was looking down the street, seeing nothing.

Saying nothing, Jackson pulled him into his arms; felt his body held hard against him, clinging to him. As they stood, the biting cold seeped into them, freezing them, adding its icy chill to the chill of raw emotion that still clung to them.

"I can't go back, Jackson," he mumbled into Jackson's shoulder. "Not tonight, not yet."

"S'okay, we don't have to go back tonight," soothed Jackson.

"D'you think it's true?" Aaron lifted his head then, looked into Jackson's dark eyes, searching for answers.

"I don't know," breathed Jackson, "I really don't. They didn't actually say anything."

"But...but..." Aaron paused, struggling to put his thoughts into words. "But they are brother and sister...half brother and sister," he qualified, "though they didn't know that...then...if..."

"Aaron," Jackson whispered gently, "now isn't the time to debate the rights and wrongs of what may, or may not, have happened. Try not to let it mince your head just now."

Aaron snorted; his head was already in a spin, a tumult, with all the new ideas tumbling around in it.

Jackson moved slightly, easing one arm away from Aaron, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out his phone.

Hardly listening to Jackson's quiet voice, making a couple of calls, Aaron kept his hands linked behind Jackson's neck, burying his head into his shoulder.

"We're going to Robbie and Simon's tonight," he said a minute or two later, clicking his phone, sending a quick text to Paddy as he spoke before switching it off. "Adam's coming to give us a lift through."

"Thanks," muttered Aaron, moving away from Jackson, just a little, but keeping hold of his hand.

It wasn't long before they heard the distant roar of the Barton's old land rover hurtling down the road, quickly coming closer. They hadn't spoken while they waited, just perched on the wall, sitting hard against each other; Jackson keeping his arm reassuringly round Aaron's shoulders.

The land rover pulled to a noisy halt; Jackson leapt to wrench open the door, shaking his head, a small, almost imperceptible movement, forestalling any curious questions from Adam.

"It's the other side of Hotton, mate; I'll direct you when we get nearer," said Jackson, sliding into the seat next to Adam; holding out his hand to Aaron, pulling him up behind him, quickly squeezing his hand as he settled next to him.

The roads were empty and it didn't take them long to reach the further outskirts of Hotton; murmuring instructions, Jackson directed them to Robbie and Simon's flat. Adam cut the engine; the sudden silence seeming large and oppressive.

"I'll wait till I see you in," said Adam.

"Thanks," said Jackson, smiling wryly at him; raising his eyebrows a little, wordlessly promising an explanation – eventually.

"Phone if you need a life back tomorrow; or whenever," he said, watching Aaron jump from the land rover then stand, waiting for Jackson, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jacket, his head hanging dejectedly.

The dooropened quickly, seconds after Jackson knocked. Simon stood aside, letting them enter the warm, welcoming flat.

"Thanks," said Aaron, turning in towards the living room.

"Yeah, thanks, we appreciate it," agreed Jackson.

"So long as you guys are okay," said Simon, following them.

"Just family stuff," said Aaron, making an effort to speak. "Suddenly needed a bit of head space."

"Lager, tea, coffee? D'you want anything to eat?" offered Simon, standing at the door.

"It's no trouble," said Robbie, appearing behind Simon, leaning on his shoulder.

"Wouldn't mind a can thanks, but nothing to eat," said Jackson. "Aaron? What about you?"

"Yeah, just a can thanks," he paused, "look; sorry for just dumping on you like this, guys."

"Hey! Think nothing of it," said Simon, moving into the room, settling himself in an armchair as Robbie went to the kitchen to fetch the cans. "Make yourself comfortable and wait while I tell you what went down at Bar West on Thursday!"

Settling himself in the corner of the large sofa, Aaron listened gratefully as the conversation swirled among the three other men, keeping as far away from anything to do with himself and Jackson and their sudden appearance as possible. Simon was at his gossipy, bitchy best, relating the goings on they missed at the bar during the week they were away; talking of men they knew or knew of by reputation. Even Aaron smiled as the story unfolded, grateful to Simon for distracting him so well, for not asking questions.

It was late at night, or early in the morning, before they went their separate ways, Robbie and Simon to their own room, to whispered speculation as to what caused the sudden appearance of Aaron and Jackson that evening. Aaron and Jackson to the intimate comfort of a single bed, to lie cuddled together but silent at first; hoping sleep would come and end a difficult evening.

For a while they lay not speaking, wrapped close in each other's arms, yet neither sleeping; both knowing the other was still awake.

"Do you think I need to know?" whispered Aaron quietly into the darkness at last.

"Honestly?" said Jackson, making it a question. "S'pose it depends if you can live with not knowing, with the uncertainty. Can you?"

"Dunno," replied Aaron. "At the moment, I really don't know how I feel. I don't know whether to yell and scream and go mad at them, at everything; or laugh at the sheer twisted madness of it all. God! You don't think I am mad do you? Because of them?" He slid round in the bed, sat up a little, resting on one elbow, trying to see Jackson's face in the darkness.

Jackson gave a snort of derisive laughter. "No madder than you were six hours ago!" he said. "How come you're not freaking out?"

"Because I've had goodness knows how many cans and at least two large vodkas that Robbie gave me; because I can't really believe it; because I'm not thinking about it right now, or at least, not really thinking about it," replied Aaron, his tone becoming serious again. "Now, it just seems crazy, but maybe I'll save it for tomorrow; allow myself a major freak out then!"

In the darkness, Jackson leaned forward and kissed him, gently at first, feeling him respond, feeling his hunger as he kissed him back, deeply, letting his tongue push into his mouth.

"Thanks," said Aaron, pulling back a little.

"What for," asked Jackson, puzzled.

"For phoning Simon and Robbie; for giving me a bit a breathing space before we go back and face it all tomorrow. Tonight; it would have just got messy."

"Whoever the fuck your dad is; I am so glad he made you," whispered Jackson, finding Aaron's mouth again, kissing him; pulling his body on top of him, touching him.

Forgetting everything else, Aaron gave himself up to Jackson, to his kisses, his touch; to spending the rest of the night obliterating conscious thought.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

"You two awake for coffee?"

The question, called from the other side of the door, was accompanied by a knock, a gentle kick.

"Yeah, that'd be good," called back Aaron. He had been awake for a while; between one thing and another, he hadn't really slept much at all. But now the numbing alcohol of the night before was wearing off and his mind was buzzing. Beside him, on the outside of the bed, away from the wall, Jackson lay curled in on himself, still sleeping; Aaron shoved him, then again, harder, this time getting a groaning response.

Simon came into the bedroom, carrying three mugs of coffee, two in one hand, one in the other. He handed one to Aaron, put the second on the bedside table for Jackson, keeping the third for himself.

"Feet," he said, lifting the downie at the bottom of the bed, waiting while Aaron moved his feet further up the bed, before sliding under the covers at the bottom of the bed and leaning comfortably against the wall.

"You looking for a threesome or something," murmured Jackson sleepily, not opening his eyes.

"Oh ha ha!" retorted Simon sarcastically. "Just getting comfy; Rob's still asleep and I was bored so I thought I'd come for a chat."

"I was still sleep," replied Jackson.

"Well go back to sleep and Aaron and I will..." he paused, "...amuse ourselves."

"That'll be right," said Jackson, sitting up at last. "You've woken me up between you and now I need a pee." He swung his legs from the bed and sat up; still naked from last night, he reached down to the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, searching for his boxers. Finding a pair, he slipped them over his feet then stood, pulling them quickly over his slim hips.

Aaron watched, sipping his coffee and admiring the all too brief view, remembering.

"Behave yourselves," said Jackson as, bothering to put on nothing else, he left the room.

"Sorry," said Simon. "Just can't help teasing; I don't mean to make you feel awkward or anything."

"Nah, you're fine, I know," reassured Aaron, sipping his coffee again.

"You okay kid?" Suddenly, changing in a moment, Simon's face was full of concern for the younger man.

"Yeah," sighed Aaron, "it's just..."

"You don't have to say anything," interrupted Simon quickly, "just so long as you know that you and Jackson are always welcome here, and if Robbie and I can do anything, you only have to ask."

"Thanks," a small, half smile touched Aaron's lips. "But I don't mind talking about it; should have said last night instead of just dumping on you."

Simon shook his head, a small, dismissive noise his only comment.

"My dad chose last night to announce – in the Woolpack – that he wasn't actually my dad," said Aaron. "His kid's ill, we'd had blood tests, so it's certain," he continued by way of explanation.

"So do you know..." began Simon, leaving the sentence unfinished.

"No, not for sure," began Aaron, stopping as Jackson returned to the room, slid into bed beside him and picked up his coffee.

"The smart money seems to be on my Uncle Cain at the moment," he continued, "although there were vague hints about other men. Lads. Boys," he gave a disparaging smile. "Turns out she was only just fourteen when she had me."

"Phew!" breathed Simon. "And how do you feel about that?"

"Dunno," Aaron shook his head a little as though it would resolve the confusion he felt. "Gutted, stunned; yet it kinda makes sense in a mad way. Me and my dad..." he paused, "...Gordon," he qualified, "we never really got on; perhaps that's why; perhaps somehow he knew."

"Or perhaps you were just some chavvy little shite who was hell to live with and constantly in trouble," said Jackson, fully awake now and smiling at him.

"Yeah, there's that too," admitted Aaron, grinning back at him. It was mad, he thought; part of him wondered how he could be talking about it quite so calmly, why he wasn't freaking out, as Jackson had asked him last night. Perhaps because it was still so unreal, the stuff of drama, of soap operas, not of real life, not of his life.

"So what are you gonna do," asked Simon.

"I don't know that either," said Aaron, quietly half laughing at his indecision, his bewilderment. "Try to work out if it matters; if I want to know; if I really need to know. See what my mum has to say for herself."

"Hey, you should have woken me," Robbie appeared at the door, looking still half asleep.

"Hey yourself, gorgeous," said Simon cheerfully. "You should put more clothes on, you'll get Jackson all excited and then Aaron will get jealous!"

Robbie responded by sticking out his tongue at him, well used to his teasing. "I'm as decent as you," he glanced down as though checking he did have his boxers and tee shirt on. "You making breakfast then, sweetheart. And a coffee would be good."

Teasingly hamming it up, Simon sighed dramatically and flung the covers off himself; then springing from the bed, he left the bedroom, slapping Robbie's arse lustily as he passed.

"Ouch!" said Robbie. "Sorry, he really is too much first thing in the morning," he continued after Simon had left the room.

"Nah, he's fine," said Jackson, moving his feet again, nodding to Robbie to take the space vacated by Simon.

"I've been awake for a few minutes," said Robbie. "Heard what you were saying; that's pretty crap, kid."

"Yeah, in some ways it is," agreed Aaron, moving to give Robbie more room. "But it's kinda very Dingle too; you wouldn't understand," he hesitated, "my family have a few odd ideas about how things should be; my Uncle Zac," he paused again, "shit! He might not even be my uncle now! And anyway, after everything that happened over the summer, the court case the other week; I just can't get stressed about this just now."

"It's good you're not letting it bother you too much," said Robbie.

"Well I was pretty shocked last night when my dad started shouting his mouth off," said Aaron, his face grim. "But..." he shook his head, "...there's nothing I can do about whatever...whoever. And even when I've spoken to them; which I guess I'll have to do some time, what then?" He sounded resigned, unenthusiastic, "it's not gonna change anything, is it?"

For a moment, the three men were silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Then moving, Robbie slid from under the covers.

"I'll go and give Simon a hand," he said. "It'll be mid afternoon before we get breakfast if I don't," he smiled indulgently, thinking of his lover. He shut the door behind him.

Alone for the moment, Jackson wriggled back down under the covers, tugging Aaron down beside him.

"I can't believe you're not kicking off more," muttered Jackson, pulling Aaron back down beside him.

"Do you want me to," teased Aaron, moving so that he was half on top of Jackson, letting his hand run gently up and down Jackson flank, feeling him move into his touch; enjoying it; knowing he wanted more.

"No," murmured Jackson, "I rather like this new Aaron."

"Do you," whispered Aaron, his voice husky. "How much?"

"This much!" replied Jackson. For a second or two, he was quiet; then suddenly, surprisingly, he lunged, twisted.

Almost without knowing how it happened, yet without any resistance, Aaron found himself pinned underneath Jackson's near naked body; looking up into the laughing, liquid brown eyes smiling down at him.

Allowing him no time to speak, no false protestations to stop, Jackson bent his arms, dropping his body on top of Aaron's, he began kissing him.

"I didn't mean...," began Aaron when they paused, needing to breath.

"Neither did I," answered Jackson. "But I'm not going to waste that hard-on I know you've got. I can feel you. Wanting me." Bracing his toes into the bed, he pushed his hips against Aaron, feeling him, rubbing against him, hearing the small groan of desire escape in a breath from his lips.

Holding his eyes with his own, Jackson eased his body lower down the bed, his hands tugging Aaron's boxers with him. Helping him, eager, Aaron raised his hips, just a fraction, enough to let the material slide through the small space.

Relaxing then, giving himself up to the feelings beginning to overwhelm him, Aaron felt Jackson take his swollen cock in his mouth. The first touch of his lips sent shivers through his body. Shivers not of cold, but of lust; of desire, overwhelming desire.

Gently at first, teasing; Jackson sucked and let his tongue smooth over the tip of Aaron's cock as his lips moved slowly up and down the rigid shaft. Beneath him, Aaron was already moving, demanding more, aching to cum, to feel the building tension, hold it, keep it as long as possible until he couldn't help himself but explode, a crescendo of sensation racing through his body.

He clenched his fists, raised his hips, pushing his cock further into Jackson's mouth, deeper, harder; thrusting deeper and harder with each movement. Grabbing a handful of Jackson's hair in each fist, Aaron forgot everything except the need to fuck Jackson's face with each urgent thrust until, like a thousand tiny knives attacking every nerve in his body, sensation gathered knotting in his groin; until his cock was on fire, until he came, filling Jackson's mouth with his juice; holding Jackson head tightly until he had swallowed and swallowed. Until they lay together, spent and drenched in sweat.

"Sorry," gasped Aaron when he had got his breath back. "I just couldn't help myself."

"Oh don't apologise," breathed Jackson. "That was amazing!" He moved, his glistening, sweaty skin sliding easily against Aaron as he snuggled closer into the fold of his arm, hugging him close. "I could sleep now," he murmured.

"I think we need to move," said Aaron, turning, quickly dropping a single kiss on the tight chestnut curls of his head. "The guys are cooking breakfast; I'm sure I can smell bacon."

"I've just eaten," muttered Jackson, curling his body away from Aaron, although still keeping the curve of his back against Aaron's side, still held close by his arm, not wanting to move too far from his touch.

"I'll get a wash first," said Aaron, sliding his arm out from beneath Jackson's body. "But then you'll need to move."

"Maybe I should just come with you," conceded Jackson, rolling over to look at Aaron.

"No way!" laughed Aaron, leaving the bed from the bottom. "Because then I would have to have you; fuck you in the shower with the water pounding down on us; beading on our skin; our bodies sliding together as my hands run all over you, exciting you, before I turn you round, caress your arse and..."

"Oh fuck it, just go!" interrupted Jackson, twisting away, hiding his face in the pillow, pressing his body into the firm mattress, needing the pressure against his aching hard-on as Aaron seemed intent on leaving.

Aaron grinned down at him.

"Later. Save it for me!" he teased, knowing.

Simon was piling plates with eggs, crispy bacon, tomatoes and beans when they finally reached the kitchen.

"Good timing," he said, grinning at them. It was a small flat, not leaving much to the imagination. "Here," he handed the piled-high plates to them, waving them through to the living room, "eat, you need your strength for the rest of the day."

"Oh don't remind me," groaned Aaron. For a while he had managed to push it to the back of his mind; not quite forgotten about, but it had become an annoyance; tormenting him. Now it was back; soon he was going to have to face them and maybe all he had said, all his brave words, that it didn't matter, that he was who he was, was just that...words, and it did matter. Very much. When he saw them; would he be able to hold it together.

He ate slowly, postponing the moment; but it couldn't be long. He needed to get back to see Paddy; to apologise for running out last night. As for the others...

Jackson looked across at him, smiled. He was coping; it would be alright, it had to be.

They declined Robbie's offer of a lift back to Emmerdale, and didn't phone Adam. Aaron was happy enough to get the bus, another justifiable delay.

But not for long, not for more than an hour, maybe two. Looking up main street from the bus stop outside Smithy, it looked as though nothing had changed, yet it had.

"I should go and see Paddy first," began Aaron, making no move to go into the cottage. Instead he stood awkwardly, hesitating, biting his lower lip as he tried to decide what to do.

"I can speak to Paddy," said Jackson quietly. "Maybe you should go and see her. Your mum."

Aaron nodded; saying nothing at first. He walked a few steps away from Jackson, then turned, looking back at him.

"S'okay," whispered Jackson, "I'll wait here for you."

"This is all so shitty," he whispered. He looked back down the road. From the Woolpack, a dark haired figure emerged; his dark clothes unmistakeable. He caught sight of them and stopped, leaned against the low wall at the pubs entrance; he waited.

Holding Jackson's gaze for one long, longing moment; Aaron turned, walked briskly down the slope; not looking at the man waiting for him. Not looking at him, but aware that he had fallen into step just behind him, Aaron kept on walking, heading down the road to the cottage where his mother was living.

He could hear the raised voices even before he opened the gate to go up the path; could hear the shrill tones of his mother's voice, screeching in anger, in rage, in indignation. He could hear an answering voice; unable yet to make out the words flung at each other, he knew the feminine tones, deeper, yet as strident as his mothers, and as angry. He paused, unsure whether to interrupt the cousins.

"Can we talk?" said Cain; catching up with him at last.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

"Can we talk?" Cain asked the question; at first he thought Aaron was going to ignore him, say nothing.

"I was going to see me mum; talk to her, but..." Aaron said eventually; pausing, he listened to the raised voices that both men could clearly hear, ferocious in their anger, even though the words were muffled, unclear.

"Charity," said Cain, as though that explained everything. "They started having a slanging match last night, just after you left," he shrugged. "Seems they've not finished yet."

For a moment, neither man spoke, their eyes fixed on the firmly shut front door.

"What d'you want to say?" asked Aaron at last, not looking at Cain; his voice sounded weary.

"Not here," said Cain. "Come over to the garage," he turned; not waiting to see if Aaron followed him.

For a moment, Aaron hesitated; he had planned to speak to Chas first, his mum, see what she had to say for herself; to see if she could tell him...no! Not yet! Mentally shaking himself; he turned, began to follow Cain; he didn't want to stray unescorted along the road where his thoughts were leading just yet.

Cain unlocked the wooden doors to the garage, just opening them enough for them to slip though. He was already switching on the heaters as he heard Aaron pulling them closed behind him. Still in silence, he filled the kettle, flinging a tea bag into a mug for himself, spooning coffee into another for Aaron.

Watching him, Aaron said nothing; Cain wanted to talk, let him make the first move. He couldn't remember Cain ever making coffee for him though; usually he just issued orders; demanded that he make tea for him, make his own coffee.

"I don't know," said Cain into the silence. "Honestly, before you ask, I don't know. But..." he paused, looked up to the ceiling, biting his lower lip as though he was seeking help, inspiration. "But we did...y'know...sleep together."

"She's your sister," spat Aaron, turning hostile blue eyes on the other man.

"Half sister," Cain qualified, quietly.

"But you didn't know that then," snarled back Aaron quickly, almost violently.

"No," admitted Cain quietly. "I didn't. But we were kids; Dingle kids. All our lives we'd been told we lived by different rules, different laws; Dingle Law. We didn't have to do what other people did." He paused, looked at Aaron, looked to see if it was making any sense to him.

"Chas; she always looked older than she was; she was messing about with Gordon at the time; maybe a couple of other lads, but they came and went, but Gordon; he was older, he hung about. Charity and me; well she'd had Debbie a couple of years before; put her into foster care then disappeared and Chas..."

"So you moved on from your cousin to your sister," snarled Aaron angrily.

"It wasn't like that," protested Cain. "It felt..." he halted again, searching for the right word. "It felt normal," he finished weakly.

Aaron looked at Cain; he wasn't given to sharing his thoughts, feelings; he didn't like anything to dent his hard-man image. So many thoughts tumbled one upon another in Aaron's mind, chasing themselves, struggling for supremacy. It was wrong, surely always wrong, for a lad to sleep with his sister. Yet they were Dingles; different. He had only ever been an outsider; a token Dingle; he had grown up in the Livesy world; he didn't know what it was like to grow up among the unique code of family loyalty that was Dingle Law.

Silently he took the mug of coffee that Cain held out to him.

"If you want a DNA test, I'll give you a sample," continued Cain. "But it's your call."

Aaron nodded, his short burst of anger spent. "I don't know," he said. "Does it matter? Do I need to know? What difference will it make to me. Today. Now."

"Only you can answer that one," answered Cain.

"And did you really never know...suspect?" questioned Aaron, his voice low and suddenly urgent.

"She said you were Gordon's; why shouldn't we believe her? And..." continued Cain, a grudging respect in his tone, "...to give him his due, he hung around, waited, married her as soon as he could. And I think he tried...with her...with you. It just didn't work out."

Aaron bit back any response he might have made; now wasn't the time to tell Cain any more about what the years had been like; after Chas left, after Gordon took up with Sandra.

They sipped their drinks in silence; for the moment, Aaron could think of nothing to say. It all came down to how much he wanted...need to know. And he couldn't make that decision yet.

Aaron peered at Cain over the top of his mug, keeping his head bent, just lifting his eyes, looking. Looking at his hair, his face...searching for any resemblance, unsure whether he was finding any or whether it was his imagination – fooling him.

"I'd better go," said Aaron, feeling awkward now. "See if I can see me mum; if they have finished," he gave a wry, half laugh.

"If they haven't, I should leave it until they have," said Cain, watching him as he left his cup on the workbench.

Aaron nodded. "I'll be in tomorrow morning," he said.

Silently, Cain acknowledged his words, watched him head towards the door.

"Aaron!" he called suddenly, bringing him to a halt.

"I'll be proud to call you my son," he said, his dark eyes looking steadily into Aaron's blue ones, "if you do the test and it shows that you are."

Aaron turned wordlessly back to the door.

"And I'm proud to be your uncle!"

Outside, closing the door behind him, Aaron lent against it for a second. It was the sudden cold wind, a chill in his eyes making them water, wasn't it.

After a minute, maybe less, he walked away from the garage, out of the lane and into the main street. It wasn't far to the cottage almost opposite the Woolpack; even as he approached the gate, the front door flung open; Charity stormed down the path, half stopping to hurl her final words back to the unseen figure in the house.

"I don't care Chas! Not anymore! That's it, we're done!" Pushing her way forward; elbowing past him at the gate, she spoke over her shoulder to him as she walked rapidly away. "You're better off without her, love! Without any of them!"

He watched her for a few seconds as she disappeared along the road, turning the corner away from his view.

There seemed to be so many steps between the gate and the front door; far more than he had believed possible. Time too, played tricks with him, each foot an eternity to place in a step.

The door wasn't tightly shut; he didn't bother knocking, just pushed it gently, letting it swing open under its own momentum. He almost stopped then; almost turned, almost walked back down the path, away.

"Charity?" Her voice called, she must have heard him.

Decided now, he walked into the house, straight into the front room, dropping unasked onto the arm of a chair.

She glanced at him, then looked away; saying nothing.

She was sitting on the sofa; wrapped in her dressing gown, still, even this far on in the day. Her long dark hair tumbled dishevelled around her shoulders; her face was wiped clean of the heavy eye-make up she habitually wore. She looked younger than her thirty-seven years, no! Aaron corrected himself, she must be younger than that; how old was she then; thirty-two, three? He shook his head, a tiny movement; he couldn't be sure now, he couldn't really be sure of anything now.

For a few seconds, for a lifetime, the silence continued.

Aaron wasn't going to speak; he thought he could let the silence linger, drag on; he thought he could wait.

He could feel his heart beating in his chest; each beat counting a moment in time. Suddenly, he couldn't wait any longer; suddenly he couldn't hold the words back.

"So who was it? Do you know?" he asked; his voice icily bitter. "Do you have any idea which random bloke, Gordon, Cain, some other nameless lad, actually fathered me? Do you care?" He paused, "were you ever gonna tell me? Or were you gonna let me go through the whole of my life; the whole of my fucking life, thinking my father was a man who hated me?"

"Aaron!" Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "Don't..."

"Don't! Don't what?" he snapped. "Don't ask awkward questions? Don't expect truthful answers? Don't expect you to know?"

"I thought it was Gordon," she whispered. "I wanted it to be Gordon."

"But wanting it to be Gordon, doesn't make it him," his voice was calmer when he spoke this time. "Have you looked at me, really looked at me, against him, then against Cain? Who can you see a likeness to? And what about these other guys? Don't suppose you can even remember what they looked like, can you?"

"There weren't so many," she said wearily. "Not like Cain made it sound."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Aaron didn't look at her; instead he looked at his hands, picked at his nails; free from ingrained oil for once, after his holiday.

"What are you going to do?" she asked eventually, her obvious reluctance to ask, to know, colouring the tone of her voice asking the question, hiding her desperate need to know now that there was something to know; something that changed – completely changed – her world; the world she though she knew.

"Right now?" answered Aaron, pausing, "I don't know. Cain said if I wanted to do a DNA test he would give me a sample, no bother. But I don't know if I want to know." He paused again. "Do you want to know?" he asked, looking at her properly for the first time since he came into the house.

Chas shook her head. "It's not up to me," she answered. "Whatever I want...it has to be your decision."

For a moment Aaron was silent; then suddenly, surprising Chas, he jumped off his perch.

"Right!" he exclaimed, "so it's my decision then?"

Chas nodded.

"In that case, my decision is," he paused, moved towards the door, "to make no decision just now."

Almost before Chas knew it, before she could react in any way, he was gone; flinging out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

He walked up the path quickly, wanting to get away, wanting, needing to put some distance between himself and his mother before he said something he would regret. Before he started shouting at her and couldn't stop. Just when he thought things were beginning to get better between them; just when he was beginning to forgive her for leaving him, for abandoning him to Gordon all those years ago. This!

He glanced up the road towards Smithy Cottage; he knew Jackson would be waiting for him, probably pacing the floor with anxiety wondering if he and Cain had killed each other; he could be such an old woman sometimes. He smiled fondly to himself. But he just need a few minutes; a short time to collect himself before Jackson came with his concerned questions; he turned towards the Woolpack.

At the bar he ordered two pints of lager, carrying them to the alcove table, he set them down then took his phone from his pocket, sent Jackson a quick text, telling him where he was. He was still texting a few minutes later when Jackson came into the bar; the smile on his face as he saw Aaron, confirming to him the worry he had felt for him.

"Can we not talk about it for a bit?" asked Aaron quickly as Jackson slid into the bench beside him; lifting his pint, taking a long, grateful swallow.

"Fine by me," said Jackson. "Don't know how you'll get on with the welcoming committee at home though."

Aaron looked puzzled, not understanding.

"Paddy and me mum," explained Jackson.

Aaron pulled a face. "How long can we get away with staying here?"

"A while; a good couple of pints worth anyway," replied Jackson. "I slipped out; they didn't see me leaving."

"And are they...?" asked Aaron, leaving the sentence hanging.

"Oh yes!" agreed Jackson emphatically, "they definitely are!"

"Three pints?"questioned Aaron hopefully.

"Mmm, dunno," said Jackson, sucking in his breath, expressing his uncertainty. "Its kinda early and I don't think they are going to give up the chance to interrogate you."

"Ah shite," exclaimed Aaron in frustration. "Well I definitely need this pint; and another before I face the two of them."

Two pints went down very well; two pints helped them ignore everything and everyone around them. Tucked into the alcove, they talked about anything except their families. Grumbling, unasked, Marlon dumped two plates of burger and chips in front of them; grumbling, yet silently sympathetic, he held Aaron's eyes, just for a moment.

Full, satisfied, with their third pint each on the table in front of them, they didn't notice the bar door open; they didn't notice who came in, glanced at their table; they didn't notice who it was until they were standing over their table.

"So this is where you're hiding!" There was an air of triumph in Hazel's words.

"We're not hiding," protested Aaron crossly.

"We are hiding," countered Jackson firmly. "But not very successfully, obviously. What d'you want?"

"We...er... We were worried about you," bumbled Paddy.

"What's to worry about," said Aaron ungraciously, "we're fine."

"Well we didn't know that, did we!" snapped Hazel. "You went storming off last night, not a word..."

"They sent a text..." interrupted Paddy.

"Shut up Paddy," said Hazel, snapping at him now. "That's not the point. We knew you were upset; everyone was upset...but just to go..."

"Can we not do this, mum;" Jackson interrupted Hazel now, knowing that if he didn't stop her, cut her off in full flow she would go on and on, relentlessly. "We're fine. Aaron's fine. Can you just give us some space? Please?"

Saying nothing more, just turning, making a huffing, tutting noise as she went, Hazel left them.

"She's just upset for you," said Paddy awkwardly, apologetically. "She wanted to go after you last night..."his words came to a stuttering halt.

"I'm glad you stopped her," said Aaron.

"You're lucky," added Jackson. "Usually even a steam train doesn't stop her."

"I...er..." muttered Paddy, looking over his shoulder. "It wasn't pretty but she saw things my way... eventually." He allowed himself a small smile. "If you're sure you're alright?" he looked at Aaron.

"I'm fine Paddy, honestly," said Aaron gently, a slight smile touching his lips as underneath the table, out of sight, Jackson pressed his leg firmly against his own. "We'll be up the road soon."

They watched as with obvious reluctance, Paddy followed Hazel from the Woolpack.

"So are we going to go up the road shortly?" questioned Jackson once Paddy was out of ear shot.

"Nope!" smirked Aaron. "We're gonna sit here for another couple of hours yet and get bladdered! And it's your round!"

The black, early darkness of the winter evening hid them when they finally made the short walk between the Woolpack and Smithy Cottage. They opened the front door quietly, creeping in, closing it as silently as possible behind them; Jackson indicated to Aaron that he should go straight upstairs. Waiting as he squeezed past him in the narrow hall, Jackson pulled Aaron to him for a kiss, passionately brief, before letting him go up the stairs, teasingly slapping his arse before he was out of reach. Watching until he was safely at the top of the stairs, Jackson opened the door into the living room.

"That's us back," he called; seeing no one there, knowing they must be in the kitchen.

"Not so fast," came his mother's voice, preventing his escape.

Aaron was already in bed, already naked, when Jackson finally came into their bedroom; firmly, gratefully shutting the door behind him.

It took no time for him to pull off his hoodie, his tee shirt; to drop his trousers, his boxers to the floor, pulling them off with his trainers and socks. Naked, he slid in beside Aaron; beside his already warming body, moving his cold body close.

Aaron turned, moved into his arms, slid on top of his body.

"Thank you," he whispered, nuzzling his face against Jackson's neck; nibbling his ear.

"For what?" asked Jackson, knowing.

"For helping me forget," Aaron replied.

"You could fuck me and forget some more," groaned Jackson, pushing his hips, his hard-on, against Aaron's belly.

The only reply he got was Aaron's lips kissing him, his hands touching him, his body taking him.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Aaron stretched! And winced! Moving more carefully this time, but relishing the certain, delicate soreness that reminded him, so achingly, so exquisitely, of the night before; he reached to find his phone among the scatter of abandoned clothes on the bedroom floor.

Flipping it open, he saw the message icon illuminated; quickly scrolling to open it; hoping it was a reply to the text he sent last night from the Woolpack.

Scanning the few words, he had to read it twice to believe it.

"No way! No shit! That's amazing! Jackson!" he exclaimed, turning, shoving Jackson's shoulder ungently. "Jackson!"

"I'm asleep," groaned Jackson, trying to turn away from him.

"Finn's coming down," Aaron shoved him again. "Here. Today. He was at a meeting when I text last night; didn't check his phone till this morning." As he spoke, his fingers flew over the phone, sending a text in reply. "You need to move anyway; you're working this morning too."

Moaning again, he tried to pull the covers over his head. "God! I'm tired! What time did we go to sleep last night?"

"Dunno, two...three, maybe later," Aaron answered slowly, concentrating on the text he was sending.

Relinquishing sleep at last, Jackson turned, breathing in sharply as he did so.

At that, Aaron turned, smiled down at him. "You too, eh?"

"Jeez!" he exclaimed. "It feels as though my arse is on fire! What the hell did you do to me?"

"Fucked you. Several times," said Aaron slowly, still typing out his message. "But I used plenty of lube, both kinds; that lemon one you like and..." he turned towards Jackson, flicked his tongue over his lips.

"Ah shit," groaned Jackson, sitting up. "I'm going for a shower. And don't even think of joining me."

Aaron was alone at the kitchen table when Jackson came downstairs.

"Did you really say Finn was coming down?" he asked, taking the coffee Aaron pushed across the table towards him.

"Yeah. I told him about...well...a bit about what has gone down. Said he'll be down lunchtime, early afternoon."

"What about the garage?"

"Like Cain is going to do anything to stop me now," said Aaron.

"S'pose," agreed Jackson.

"Will you be able to finish at lunchtime?" asked Aaron.

"Mmm, dunno," answered Jackson. "I'm the other side of Hotton and the folk have been waiting since before we went away. Could do with getting on really. Be home just after four though; once it gets dark."

"I'll call you; let you know what's happening." He grinned at Jackson

He still couldn't really believe it; believe that Finn would drop everything and come down, just to talk to him. He'd only text him to ask when it would be best to phone him; told him the barest of bare bones...it would be good to speak to Finn.

They left Smithy together; Jackson jumped into his van, ready to head towards Hotton, but waited as Aaron kissed him quickly but fully on his bruised lips before he closed the door, holding his eyes for a second before he turned away and began heading down the main street towards the garage.

Aaron heard the distinctive roar of the van's engine disappear in the opposite direction as he got closer to the garage. The double doors were already open; at first he didn't see anyone, no Cain, no Debbie. He headed towards the kettle.

"You're late."

Cain voice came from the furthest, darkest recesses of the garage.

"And I'm knocking off at lunchtime," said Aaron, peering into two mugs, seeing if they were clean enough to use without washing.

"Oh yes?" questioned Cain, his voice a low growl.

"Yes," asserted Aaron.

Cain glared at him, saying nothing, is eyebrows raised as he waited for Aaron to continue.

"I'm meeting someone. Finn; the vicar from Hexham," Aaron paused, looked at Cain. "I need to talk to someone, Cain. Someone with a bit of distance from all this. Someone who can help me sort my head out."

Cain nodded; it was a moment before he spoke. "You gonna make the tea or just stare into those mugs all morning."

...

He wasn't sure what time Finn would be arriving; the text to say he was on his way arrived just before eleven o'clock; it depended on the traffic, he supposed. But he left the garage at lunchtime anyway; he wanted a shower - he needed a shower.

It was after two when he heard a car pull up outside Smithy; he had been looking out of the window, unable to settle, but still missed the car's arrival.

Surprisingly, unexpectedly, two men climbed from the car.

"I brought the old man!" exclaimed Finn cheerfully. "Hope you don't mind!"

"Course not," replied Aaron, allowing himself to be pulled into a bear hug by Finn.

"I'm not stopping just now," said Greg. "Heading into Leeds for a bit of shopping; I believe somebody's expecting a Christmas present."

"And we're not in any rush," continued Finn. "We've booked into that B & B tonight."

"Val and Pollards!" laughed Aaron, "you're brave!"

"Spoke to a right Gordie woman when I phoned this morning," said Greg. "She seemed nice enough, if a bit..." he paused, "...gushy."

"That's Val," confirmed Aaron. "She's ok, just a bit...well you'll see!"

"Right! I'm off before you really scare me," smiled Greg. He leant forward, kissed Finn, held his eyes for a long, serious moment, a silent message of strength. Almost imperceptibly, Finn nodded, understanding.

"So? Does this pub do a decent pint?" asked Finn as Greg turned from view.

The Woolie was quiet when they went in; Alan and Betty, perched comfortably at one end of the bar looked at them as they came in, questions, curiosity etched on both faces; but they asked nothing, said nothing, beyond a nod of greeting.

Aaron directed Finn to seats as far from Betty and Alan as possible while he got the pints.

"A friend?" asked Diane, pulling the pints, smiling, tilting her head to one side perhaps in the hope of inviting confidences.

"Yeah," growled Aaron, offering nothing more, handing over the money for the drinks, accepting the change wordlessly.

"Nice place," said Finn, taking a first, thirsty gulp from his pint.

"Yeah, it's not bad," agreed Aaron. For a moment there was silence between them, but it was comfortable, companionable.

"Thanks for coming down," said Aaron quietly. "You didn't need to," he paused, "but I'm awfully glad you did."

"Your text sounded...like you needed to talk," Finn said, "and I thought perhaps it was best to talk face to face. And when it comes down to it, I'm a nosey git and you've spoken so much about this place, it seemed a good chance to see it for myself." He smiled. "Besides, gives Greg a chance to scour different shops for my Christmas present!"

Aaron laughed, there was something about Finn, even being in his presence made him feel calmer, even when they were only gossiping.

Finn took another mouthful of his pint. "So," he said expectantly.

It was an invitation to talk; the invitation Aaron knew was there in Finn's very presence, but was grateful to hear even so. He began, hesitantly at first, relating events of the two days since they had last seen each other; two days when so much had happened; when so much had changed.

It was a relief, a release to talk of his shock, his confusion, his uncertainty at what he should do, or even shouldn't do. It was different from talking to Jackson; Finn held a distance, a perspective, a mirror, up against his words; he let him speak, ask questions; then with the subtlest of prompting, led him to answer his own questions.

An hour passed, another; they hardly noticed the comings and goings in the pub; the curious glances cast in their direction as the village observed their intense conversation, their sudden burst of laughter, breaking the tension.

"Bit of competition for Jackson, is it?" The sarcastic voice came from behind them; his arrival unnoticed. "Thought you were meeting your God-bothering mate, not some new bit of totty."

Finn stood up, holding his right hand towards Cain, letting his left run through his unruly mop of blonde curls.

"Finn Nicholson," he said.

"That's the Reverend Finn Nicholson," said Aaron smugly, smiling at Cain's sudden discomfort. "One of the officiating priests at Hexham Abbey. Finn, this is Cain."

The two men eyed each other up; Cain's face reflecting his surprise, showing so clearly that the man before him shattered any illusions he had formed of the priest who had, unexpectedly become friends with his nephew. His son?

Finn stood almost a head above Cain, his ready smile, his eyes sparkling at the assumptions so clearly made; his easy grace, his open friendliness quickly working to gloss over the mistake, to put Cain at his ease.

"Cain! Join us! Aaron's told me a lot about you! What are you drinking?" Finn turned to Aaron, wordlessly asking him if he wanted another drink.

"It's ok, I'll get these," said Aaron, jumping up, abandoning both men to each other.

It took a few minutes for Diane to serve him, to pull the three pints. Aaron glanced anxiously over his shoulder a couple of times; he couldn't hear their voices, what they were saying; but that they were in earnest conversation couldn't be doubted.

"He looks nice," said Diane in her most flirtatious manner as she intruded on his thoughts, pulling the first pint.

"He's gay," replied Aaron, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "And he's a vicar. And he's got a boyfriend."

If Diane's eyebrows could have risen any higher on her forehead, they would have done. It wasn't often she was lost for words behind the bar of the Woolie, but "Oh" was all she could find to say, with her surprised lush red lips, on this occasion.

Aaron carried the first two pints over to the table.

"No! No! No! For goodness sake! Don't do that man!"

He heard Cain's exclamation as he crossed the room; quickening his pace, he slammed the two pints down on the table, demanding an explanation.

"Cain! What the f...! What on earth's going on?" he asked angrily.

"He's only considering ripping the original engine out of his Triumph," Cain answered, the incredulity clear in his voice.

Aaron gave an awkward laugh, "I thought you might..."

"You thought what?" demanded Cain. "That I might be about to lay into him?"

"I...er...well..." stuttered Aaron.

"I thought it was a good opportunity to pick Cain's brains about it," said Finn, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked at Aaron.

Aaron returned his smile; he never had any intention of ripping out his beloved Triumph's engine, did he? But then, Cain wasn't to know that, was he? "Right, fine," he said, turning back for the last pint.

Conversation was surprisingly easy; they talked about cars; cars they had once owned; younger, Aaron felt rather excluded; and cars they dreamed of owning; cars of any colour and any horsepower; just cars.

"He's alright; your mate," Cain whispered, rather loudly, as Finn stood at the bar, waiting his turn to be served.

"Told you he's not your usual God-botherer," smirked Aaron. "Going for a pee." He slid from seat, left the bar.

Finn watched him go, wondered how long he had, wondered how quick he could make this conversation. He carried their drinks back to the table.

"He's a good lad," he said, nodding his head in the direction of the door that Aaron had just left through.

"Mmm," said Cain non-committally.

Finn looked steadily into Cain's dark, suspicious, eyes.

"He's talked to me, told me everything, but you'll know that," Finn let a gentle smile touch his lips.

"Is it freaking him out?" Cain asked.

Finn was quiet for a moment before he answered. "He's doing a lot of thinking; but no, he's not freaking; mostly he's being practical and pragmatic."

"And does he..." began Cain.

Finn smiled. "I'm not going to say any more Cain; I'm not a Catholic priest and haven't been speaking to Aaron in a confessional; but I'm respecting his privacy."

Cain nodded.

"Which is something I am very good at. With anyone I talk to, in any circumstances. Y'know," continued Finn, "Sometimes us God-botherers can be decent enough blokes to talk to...if you ever need to. It can't be easy for you either; getting your head round...all this." From his wallet he pulled a card with his contact details on it and slid it across the table towards Cain.

"No! You're alright!" exclaimed Cain hotly.

"And we can talk about cars too," continued Finn smoothly, not allowing a smile to escape as he watched Cain fingering, pocketing the card, despite his words.

Moments later Aaron was back, Jackson at his side.

"I was just telling him Greg's down as well," grinned Aaron as Finn stood and embraced Jackson in his bear hug.

"So what's the plan for tonight then?" asked Jackson when he could breathe again.

"Hadn't thought," replied Aaron.

"Could go into Hotton for something to eat," suggested Jackson. "Might be nice to get away from here for a bit," he glanced around the bar; it was getting busier now with people gradually finishing their work, coming in.

"Yeah. Yeah, what d'you think Finn?" Suddenly Aaron realised that time was getting on, that Chas; that his mother, might be coming to join Diane in the bar. And he didn't want to see her.

"You're the locals," grinned Finn. "Anywhere you suggest is fine by me. I'll text Greg, see how long he's going to be."

"We could go to that new Indian in Hotton," suggested Jackson. "And what about giving Robbie and Simon a call, see if they want to join us. If you're okay with that?" he added, looking at Finn.

"Yeah, go for it," said Finn, quickly typing a message into his phone as he spoke.

It was quickly arranged; Greg was only minutes from the village; Jackson phoned Robbie and Simon, caught them before they had eaten – unsurprisingly they were happy to come out having heard so much of Finn, they weren't going to miss a chance to satisfy their curiosity. And for once, they could find a taxi that would take them almost immediately.

Twenty minutes late, in fine high spirits, the four men left Emmerdale, left curious people in the pub behind them. Left Cain and Chas gazing wordlessly from behind the glass of the Woolpack window straining to see the four figures in the evening gloom; left them wondering about the four men who were disappearing from their sight.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

"I can't tell you! The lecture I had walking over here!" exclaimed Simon, leaning across the table, delicately dunking a broken triangle of popadom into the lime pickle.

They had been in the restaurant long enough for Jackson to perform the introductions; for them to be seated at a large, round table; for them to order drinks; their food; for the deliciously nibbly popadoms to arrive.

"And I see you took a lot of notice," said Jackson, easily able to imagine the kind of things Robbie had been saying, trying to keep the exuberance of his boyfriend under control.

Simon huffed exaggeratedly, twisting his shoulders away from Jackson, then quickly stuck out his tongue at him. And all the while his eyes were sparkling with laughter; knowing Jackson at least, would undestand it was just an act.

"I bet he told you to leave your camp gene at home," said Aaron, remembering a comment made a long time ago. Suddenly he giggled! Oh shit! He really giggled! He picked up his drink, sipped; okay so he had had a few pints earlier; but he didn't giggle! Aaron looked around the table, biting his lower lip, trying to ground himself for a moment, until the alcohol absorbing main meal arrived. Letting his glance fall briefly on every face around the table, he suddenly thought how strange it was, how much his life had changed; if someone had told him eighteen months, two years ago, that he would be sharing a meal with his boyfriend; his boyfriend! and four amazing men, four amazing friends; he wouldn't have believed it. But he needed to hold it together just now; Aaron Livesy didn't do giggling!

Around him, the conversation still flowed; opposite him, Simon still queened it big style with Robbie scowling indulgently beside him.

"Aw listen guys! If you want camp, let me tell you about how I met Finn!" said Greg, leaning forward conspiratorially, ignoring the embarrassed groan from his partner beside him. "It was Pride '96; I was down in London working for the summer before I started uni. Well there he was, on the march, dressed in nothing but the shortest of gold lamé shorts; he didn't have so much of a beer belly in those days!"

"I don't have a beer belly," interrupted Finn indignantly.

"Ah sweetheart!" sighed Greg, "I see you naked every night; believe me, you've got a beer belly...but I love it! You're just tall enough that it's not as noticeable as some. Anyway," he continued, warming to his story, "he was tall and tanned and with his hair; his hair was even longer than it is now – he looked like a Greek god; like Apollo. I knew I wanted him, had to have him! And I wouldn't have bothered if he was the campest queen in the palace. And then he told me he was studying to become a vicar!" He smiled, remembering.

"You enjoy telling that story just a bit too much," said Finn, just the faintest touch of pink colouring his cheeks as he raised his face to his companions.

"Ah but it was such a great summer,"sighed Greg nostalgically. "You were what, twenty, I was nineteen; we spent the whole summer partying, clubbing, working." He smiled at Finn, sharing their memories.

"So how did you end up in Hexham?" asked Robbie.

"Was really just a case of where we could both get jobs" said Finn. "And where the Church didn't freak out at the idea of a gay priest. And we had had four, almost five years on the scene, so were quite happy to look away from cities or big towns."

"And in Hexham they didn't freak?" asked Robbie.

"They had their moments!" laughed Finn. "But they were prepared to give me a try and I have been there ever since, curate and vicar."

"So how do you square it," asked Simon, no sign now of the camp mannerisms so evident a few minutes before, "you know, God, the Bible and all that."

"Long answer;" began Finn, "it's all 'Lost in Translation' Greek, Hebrew, Latin; think of the difference in language between the St James Version and the modern versions; there's only a few hundred years between them and they're both in English. Add a few thousand years, a few different languages; meanings change." He grinned. "Short answer; Genesis 1:27 'God created man in his own image;'what d'you know! My God's gay!"

A rumble of laughter ran round the table.

Finn smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Well it works for me," he said, "and I've not been struck down by lightening yet."

"He wouldn't dare!" laughed Greg.

As the waiter removed the debris of the popadoms and pickle tray, Aaron excused himself; he needed to pee, but he needed a moment alone too, a moment to gather his thoughts, his feelings. He was drunker than he meant to be, than he should be; but he hadn't had had any lunch he remembered; and he had been drinking steadily all afternoon. For a while, he had forgotten; forgotten that one of the certainties of his life had been taken away from him; forgotten that he had to decide what to do about it. He leant his back against the sink, closing his eyes, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes; trying to find some relief from the thoughts that had resurfaced in his mind.

He thought he was doing pretty well; it was barely forty-eight hours since Gordon had stunned them all with his announcement in the Woolpack; forty-eight hours since half his identity had been ripped from him; and even Jackson had admitted he was doing well, that he wasn't freaking. Perhaps he should have done though; perhaps he should be worrying more; caring more.

….

As they watched him leave the table, the five men were silent for a moment.

"How's he doing?" asked Robbie. "Oh! Sorry! Perhaps I shouldn't…"

"No, no! You're fine!" said Jackson quickly, "everyone here knows. Sorry, I should have said." He paused. "He seems okay; I thought he would have gone off on one much more than he has done though. That first night; he was shocked, needed to get away; but since then, he's just been…" he paused again, searching for the right word.

"Practical; pragmatic," supplied Finn, using the same words that he had used earlier in the afternoon to Cain, watching the others nod in slow agreement. "After everything that happened recently; the attack, the stress of the court case the other week; I think he's kind of beyond it, beyond worrying about it.

"Do you mean he's burying it, not facing up to it?" asked Simon.

"Well I'm not a psychologist or anything," said Finn, "but I don't think so; it's more like he's just not rating it. You guys are teachers; he's only a bit older than year twelves, what do you think?" He looked between his partner and Simon.

"He's definitely not as rattled as he was back in the summer," agreed Simon, "or even like he was in the weeks before the court case; he's not having nightmares again, is he Jackson?"

"No," answered Jackson. "At least, I'm pretty sure not," he qualified.

"I don't know him as well as you guys," began Greg, "but I think what you see is what he is feeling. Certainly with you Jackson, I don't think he would hide anything, you have shared so much, emotionally, recently." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "I think; what he tells you, is exactly what he feels; while he might be keeping things to himself a bit, I don't think he's going to deliberately lie about how he's feeling."

"Yeah," agreed Jackson. "I don't get the feeling he's as…as…fragile, as he was before. And he hated it. Hated his tough, hard-man, image being shattered; he's just like Cain that way." Jackson stopped abruptly, his chocolate eyes widening, as he realised the significance of his words.

"What do you think," asked Simon quietly. "Do you think Cain's his dad?"

Jackson looked around at the four pairs of eyes upon him. "I think there's a good chance," he said quietly.

"Is he going to get a DNA test?" asked Robbie.

Finn shook his head. "No; not yet anyway; he told me this afternoon he didn't need to know. That might change of course; but he's got Jackson and Paddy for support, and you guys close by; he talks about Paddy so much, I'd like to meet him before we head back north."

"I'm sure he'd like to meet you too," grinned Jackson, "and for the same reason!" Suddenly his smiled faded, his face clouded over. "He's been gone a while, longer than it takes to pee anyway; I better go…"

"No! I'll go," interrupted Simon. "I need anyway and I promise not to make it look as though we're checking up on him!" Before anyone could protest, Simon slid from his seat, pushing it behind him.

He found Aaron leaning back against the sinks, staring at the ceiling, staring into nothingness.

"You okay, kid," he asked, doing what he needed.

"Yeah, just trying to sober up a bit," he half laughed. "Don't want to make even more of a pratt of myself."

"You're not making a pratt of yourself," Simon reassured him.

"Wasn't I?" questioned Aaron, almost wistfully.

"No. You weren't," replied Simon firmly. "There's a lot going on for you, take a bit to get your head round it; you're allowed a wobble now and then. None of us care; we're all here for you. And you've got Jackson."

Aaron smiled then. "I have, haven't I? How the hell did that happen?"

"He's got this weird taste in chavvy queers who tuck their trackkies into their boots," Simon said cheekily. "We've been trying to break him of it but it's not working so far!"

Aaron laughed then, really laughed. "It isn't, is it?" He paused, "thanks Simon," he said, serious now.

"You're welcome, kid," Simon said, bumping his shoulder against Aaron's. "You okay to come back now? Give Finn and Greg a good evening; maybe even go to Bar West when we've eaten; this close to Christmas, it should be busy enough even though it's the middle of the week."

"Yeah, I'm fine really," said Aaron, turning towards the door.

Catching him up, Simon suddenly gave his arse a quick, teasing slap. "Go on! Get out of here kid, before they think we're up to no good!"

Aaron laughed. "You should be so lucky!"

"Oh yeah! Come on then! Kiss me!"

"Simon! You are so full of shite! You'd run a mile if anyone but Robbie came on to you!"

"Oh bugger! You noticed!" he grinned. "Still, put a smile on your face though, didn't it!"

"It did that alright," said Aaron, pausing again before he opened the door back into the restaurant, "and thanks again."

Simon made a small, dismissive noise; leaning in front of Aaron he dragged the door open. "Enough now," he said. "Let's get out there and have a good evening."

It was a good evening; Bar West was surprisingly busy for a week night when they walked in an hour or so later. Busy enough that there was nowhere with enough seats for them all to sit; busy enough that the pool table had a line of coins balanced on the wooden sill of the table.

"What is it with the guys in here and pool," grumbled Aaron, looking at the line of coins.

"Oh wise up Aaron," laughed Robbie. "How long have you been coming here? You either admire the view or show off your assets; and you can't tell me you didn't realise – I've seen you on that pool table!"

"Well I just fancied a game, that's all," said Aaron, watching the lads already playing.

"I guess there's not much going on in Hexham," said Robbie to Finn as Finn returned from the bar, carefully carrying three pints.

"No, nothing," he replied, handing Robbie his drink, turning, handing another to Aaron. "We sometimes venture into Newcastle, but not very often these days. You're lucky having this place in town."

"Yeah, it's ok," agreed Robbie. "Gets a bit claustrophobic at times; more than once Simon has run into some of the senior kids from his school here."

"No way!" laughed Finn, "what does he do?"

"Just says 'hi' and carries on," said Robbie. "He seems to get surprisingly little hassle at school anyway. What about Greg?"

"Well I don't think he's even seen any of his pupils out in gay pubs, that's for sure," laughed Finn. "Some of the other staff know, probably most; but we live so far from the school and don't socialise with them, it's never been a problem."

Conversation flowed between the six men, in twos, threes, coming together, drifting apart, enjoying the easy company in the busy bar. For most of the evening the bar was busy with people standing, talking, watching.

Later, but time enough before closing, the music suddenly grew louder, the beat thumping, resounding through the building, flowing into their bodies, filling their souls.

Slowly people moved away from the bar; from the pool table; moved towards the more open spaces of the bar. In twos, fours gradually, hesitantly for the first seconds, men started dancing together; women started dancing together; holding their bodies close, touching, eyes raking over each other, undressing, imagining.

"Dance with me Aaron!" demanded Simon, swaying gently in time to the music in front of him.

"Dream on" growled Aaron, far from soberly. Somewhere behind him he heard Jackson stifle a snort of laughter; he knew how rarely Aaron could be persuaded onto the dance floor.

"You then, Jackson!" exclaimed Simon, spinning on his heels, surprising Jackson.

"No! Honestly! You're fine!" spluttered Jackson. Not tonight; he'd danced with Simon many times, but not tonight. He was getting tired, thinking about heading home and Simon still seemed full of energy.

"Ah c'mon then!" exclaimed Finn, jumping up, grabbing Simon's hand and moving out, weaving his way through the swaying couples already dancing.

"Oh please," groaned Robbie, turning away. "Is he really a vicar?" he said to Greg.

"He really is," sighed Greg, "although sometimes even I find it hard to believe." Watching his partner in the small space now filled with dancers; taller than many of the people, the swirling, twirling mix of bodies; moving in time to the music, a smile spread slowly, proudly, across his lips.

For a while they watched, Greg and Robbie, Jackson and Aaron; the music changed, the bodies changed their movement, their rhythm, the circling, sexual movement; the dance drawing them in. Greg and Robbie left their safe viewpoint and joined the dancers on the floor.

The music; loud, pulsating, exciting, filled the room, took their bodies, their minds.

"Oh fuck it!" said Aaron suddenly, grabbing Jackson's hand.

"What're you doing?" Jackson's surprise was evident in his voice.

"I'm not dancing," said Aaron fiercely, "but we'll just stand close and move a bit."

"Aaron Livesy! Are you asking me to dance?" asked Jackson delightedly as Aaron pulled him towards their friends, already moving apart, creating a space for them.

"No!" said Aaron, stopping, turning to face Jackson, slipping his arms around Jackson's waist; closing the space between them. "We're just moving, not dancing."

Jackson couldn't see the difference.

He couldn't see the difference much later in Smithy Cottage, when their naked arms and legs were tangled about each other; when their panting, sweat-soaked bodies moved in rhythm together to the soundtrack still playing in their heads as their kisses deepened and their love making intensified until, satisfied, they slept entwined in exhausted dreamless sleep.

...

In Tug Ghyll: in the eternal darkness of a long winter evening, he sat in silence staring at the long empty can of lager in his hand. He had to know. Not knowing; the thought of never knowing, was killing him a little already.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

"Morning!"

Finn's cheerful greeting surprised him as he slouched into the kitchen. His bright mop of blond curls seemed to blaze in Aaron's eyes as he walked into the room the next morning; the brightness of his curls a halo around his head, highlighted by the winter sun coming in through the window, glinting with each movement he made.

"What are you doing here?" he asked grumpily.

"Oi you! Be nice," said Paddy. "Just because you don't do mornings and have got a hangover."

"I have not got a hangover," countered Aaron argumentatively, each word deliberately spoken.

"He's got a hangover; you can always tell," Paddy said to Finn as though Aaron wasn't in the room; wasn't standing beside them. "So you're not going to work this morning then?" he asked, turning his attention back to Aaron.

"No," said Aaron as though it was obvious; he was still here wasn't he!

"Cain will..." began Paddy.

"Cain will just have to wait," snarled Aaron, picking up the kettle. He felt the weight of it, gauging the amount of water in it before switching it on, turning his back on Finn and Paddy as he put coffee into a mug for himself.

"He'll be alright when he's had a couple of coffees," said Paddy to Finn conspiratorially, ignoring the spoon crashing against a mug behind him

Aaron flung himself down into a chair at the table. "Where's Greg," he growled to Finn.

"Out for a run," smiled Finn. "D'you want me to go? Come back later?"

"No. You're fine," sighed Aaron; he paused. "Sorry," he said, shaking his head, just a little.

"It's okay; it's not everyone that can take their drink and not have a hangover the next day," he grinned; laughing aloud as he saw the scowl appear on Aaron's face. "Paddy tells me Jackson left for work an hour ago,"

"He's another freak," growled Aaron, leaning his elbows on the table, nursing his mug of coffee. "I take it you and Paddy introduced yourselves then," he said, realising that they hadn't met before, yet Finn had an empty mug in front of him; had obviously been there a while.

"Oh yes," confirmed Paddy heartily, "we've found lots to talk about!"

"Paddy! You'd better not have..." Aaron exploded angrily.

"What?" chucked Paddy. "Tell him something about you that he doesn't already know? Something that you haven't already told him? Seems to me there's nothing for me to tell."

"Yeah...well," conceded Aaron, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had risen. "Have we got any paracetamol?"

Paddy moved to rummage in one of the cupboards, looking for the tablets. Finding them, he dropped them on the table in front of Aaron then found a glass, filled it with water and handed that to him, watching as he swallowed the tablets

"You could take that post-op lab out to the field for me," said Paddy. "A bit of fresh air might do you good; just don't let her off the long line though, she can't go too mad yet."

Aaron grumbled but stood and moved towards the door that lead through to the surgery. He paused for a split second as he reached the door, saying nothing but glancing at Finn.

"Mind if I come with you," said Finn, catching his glance, pushing his chair back from the table and following him.

In the area off the surgery where the in-patient animals lived while they recovered, Aaron was already opening the cage of a large golden lab. Grabbing an extending lead, he slipped the catch onto her collar, then held the lead out to Finn while he pulled on an old jacket that had been hanging on the door.

"Thanks," he said, opening the air into the bitingly cold morning.

Finn closed the door behind them and said nothing as they walked around the end of Smithy into the field at the back of the cottage.

For a minute or two they walked in silence; Finn knew enough about people, knew enough about Aaron, to know that there was no rush; that he would speak when he felt ready; meantime he held tight to the excitable dog that seemed desperate to run despite the line of stitches along her belly.

The wind cut bitterly across the open, exposed field, whipping into their faces as they trudged up the slight incline.

"He's right; I'm not good in the morning," began Aaron, "and with the lager...and all the stuff...y'know. But I shouldn't take it out on you and Paddy. I'm sorry."

"Ah, you're fine, Aaron; you've a lot to cope with and we did kind of hammer it yesterday."

"But that's the point," said Aaron as they gained the shelter of the trees and stood out of the wind while the dog sniffed happily at their feet. "I don't feel as though I have anything to cope with; it wasn't anything I did; it wasn't my mistake and just now, I really don't need to know anymore. Paddy is all the dad I need," he paused. "It's not wrong, is it? To feel like that?

"No, of course it's not; if that's how you feel now. But you need to think about the future, try to imagine if you will always feel this way," Finn paused, looking up into the trees above him as he tried to find the right words.

"Cain has offered you a DNA test," he continued. "You've refused it now, but there might come a day when Cain is no longer around. If you miss your chance now, you might regret it later. I'm not saying any way is the right or wrong one, just that you need to think carefully before closing any doors."

Aaron nodded. "I have...I am...I think I have. Come on, lets go back, it's freezing," he turned to head back towards Smithy. "I will think about it some more."

"You can always pick up the phone if you need to talk it though again," said Finn as they neared the cottage.

Rounding the corner, they were suddenly assailed by strident tones.

"Aaron! Aaron wait!" Leaving the shop, Chas veered towards them.

"Just ignore her," growled Aaron.

"We can't do that. Who is it anyway?" asked Finn, turning to look even as Aaron tried to divert him towards Smithy.

"My mother," answered Aaron shortly, still trying to urge Finn towards the cottage.

"Oh! Right! Mind if I go and say hello?"

Before Aaron could answer, Finn had swung away from him, heading towards Chas. Watching him for a moment, Aaron bit his lip, wishing they hadn't seen her, wishing Finn had ignored her; understanding that Finn was never going to ignore her.

Trotting a little, Finn quickly caught up with Chas.

"Hi, I'm Finn," he held out his hand to her, "I'm so glad to meet you at last Chas."

"Oh!" surprise made her voice shriller than ever. "Hello!" She let her hand be taken in a warm shake of greeting.

"Chas; I'd really like to have a chat with you," Finn began easily, "could we perhaps go somewhere warmer; I've been out with Aaron and the dog for a while and it's bitter."

Almost in unison, they looked towards Smithy; Aaron stood poised at the door, his face impossible to read.

"Yes. Yes...sure," said Chas, dragging her attention back to the man standing so surprisingly beside her. She began to walk down the road; glancing at him, hoping he didn't notice her scrutiny, she realised that Aaron had said very little about him; beyond his name, beyond the fact that he was a vicar; he had said very little. She was surprised to find him so young; more or less ages with herself. She was surprised to find him so tall, so good looking, so manly; and yet Aaron had said he was gay; he had said that much.

Less than a minute later she was letting them into her cottage; relieved it was empty for this unexpected guest.

"Coffee?" she asked and was glad he accepted the offer; it gave her something to do for a minute, two minutes; a chance to gather her thoughts.

"I'm really pleased to have had the chance to come to Emmerdale," said Finn quietly, gently, as he moved around the room, looking at the pictures on the walls. "Aaron has spoken so much about the village; it's nice to see it, be able to picture it. To meet the people he cares about," he said, turning to accept the mug of coffee from Chas's trembling hand.

"He's coping, Chas," he continued, "I just wanted to reassure you of that. He's told me a little – I know your relationship with him hasn't always been an easy one..."

"I've always loved him!" exclaimed Chas, interrupting him. "Always! Even when..." she stopped abruptly.

"Even when you left him, a child, a struggling teenager; with a homophobic father whose casual hatred led to years of confusion, self denial and anger. It could have all gone so wrong Chas." Finn spoke so quietly yet his words were like a knife; he knew this wasn't a conversation he could have without causing pain. "He was lucky, Chas; he found Paddy – and I know that was because you were going out with him at the time – and it is to your eternal credit that you didn't drag him away from him. But its Paddy and Jackson who have made him the man he is, the man he can face being."

"Does he hate me?" Chas whispered, a sob catching quietly in her voice. She couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see the disappointment in this man's eyes.

"No Chas, he doesn't hate you," said Finn, his voice warmer now with reassurance, "far from it; but he doesn't understand you, understand your relationship with him; when he thinks of you, he's still that confused kid you walked away from."

For a moment, neither of them spoke; Finn waiting, gave her chance to calm her breathing before he asked her.

Wiping her eyes, smudging her heavy mascara, she wished it was over; she wished it had never begun.

"Chas." His voice was at its quietest. "Because Aaron is my friend, because I care about him, I need to ask you. Have you been honest with him? To the very bottom of your soul; have you told him the truth?" He looked at her, scared that she didn't meet his eye.

"Chas! You have to tell him," his voice was pleading now. "If you know something that you don't tell him now and he finds out later, you will lose him, believe me! He won't be able to cope with that!"

"Is he having a DNA test?" She didn't look at him; she looked at the carpet, at her feet.

"No, not at the moment," said Finn.

"Why not?" questioned Chas, her voice sharper, more like her usual acerbic tones.

"He says he doesn't need to know," said Finn briefly.

"Do you think he should?"

"I think he needs to think about it carefully; and when he's done that and if he's still of the same opinion; then I think we need to respect his wishes." He paused, looked at Chas. "Unless there is anything you want to tell him that might help him with that decision?"

"I wanted it to be Gordon," sobbed Chas, "I wanted it so much, but I don't know...I think...have you looked at them? Close together? I think it might be Cain!" As she said his name, her voice crumbled, cracked; full-blown heart-wrenching sobs began to wrack her body.

Surprising himself, Finn took her in his arms, holding her as the tears flowed freely; as she cried bitterly for the last twenty years.

At last she stopped and embarrassed, moved away to the kitchen; Finn heard the sudden spurt of the tap being turned full on. When she returned the dark hair framing her face was wet, her skin still damp.

"What am I going to do?" she asked.

"The only thing you need to do, Chas, is be honest with him; which might be one of the hardest things you have ever had to do. Just lay your soul bare naked before him and trust him."

Flinging herself quickly away from him, not wanting him to see the tears that threatened again, Chas thrust the heels of her hands into her eyes, stifling the betraying emotion in a gesture Finn recognised.

When she turned back to face him, to look him in the eye; he could see a new determination in her face, a resolution.

"I'll do my best," she said. "I'll talk to him."

"That's all anyone can ask of you," he reassured her gently.

It was sometime later that he finally left her; he'd taken her to the precipice at the edge of her world and pulled her back, then led the conversation back to a more even keel; he'd led her carefully away from the pain he had made her face, presented her with a hope for the future. He had even made her smile. He left her promising to call him if she ever needed to talk to someone; to him.

He walked further down the street, turning down the lane opposite the garage where Aaron worked; the garage he was avoiding going to for the moment.

He found the building easily enough; turning the handle, the door was open as it should be, welcoming him in. He let his fingers drift over the heavy red velvet curtains as he stood in the doorway for a second or two, drinking in the peace before him.

He slid into one of the seats, bowed his head and tried to empty his mind of everything before slowly letting the drip, drip, drip of his worries return, presenting them to the higher authority he followed, asking for help.

He couldn't have said how long he had been there before he knew he wasn't alone; eyes upon his back sent a shiver of apprehension tingling down his spine. He turned and saw the older man standing hesitantly at the back of the church. Realising he had been spotted, he came forward.

"Ashley Thomas," he said, "Reverend Ashley Thomas," he held out his hand.

"I'm Finn..." he began.

"I know who you are," smiled Ashley almost shyly. "I've read your book, and in the diocesan magazine – your articles."

Unable to help himself, Finn blushed.

"And I know you're Aaron's friend," Ashley continued.

"Yeah," smiled Finn, "I just needed a word with The Boss about that," he nodded his head upwards. "Does Aaron ever...?"

"No!" laughed Ashley. "Aaron is a strictly weddings and funeral church goer – and then only when Paddy twists his arm."

They talked for a while longer before Ashley excused himself; left the peace of the building to Finn.

In the silence, in his mind, Finn played over all the times he had met Aaron, all the people he had met through Aaron, all their conversations; he was doing his best, wasn't he? In the silence he sought his own reassurance.

...

In the darkest corner of the garage, with the doors closed against the village, he struggled to stifle the retching that twisted his guts as he tried to throw up into the old and dirty sink. But there was nothing; he'd hardly eaten since whenever...whenever this all began; now he couldn't get it out of his mind, couldn't escape from the hell of uncertainty. Splashing cold water from the single tap onto his face, he looked towards the door; he needed to see him; needed to make him understand that they had to take the test; that he had to know if he was his father.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Aaron flung himself back on the bed, breathing hard. His body was glistening with sweat, with... He looked across to Jackson beside him, equally breathless, and smiled.

"That was something else!" he said, his breathing still laboured. "It just gets better every time!"

Jackson stretched languidly, his dark eyes still roaming over his lover's naked body. "That is because I am such a bloody good fuck," he said smugly.

Wriggling around until he was lying on his stomach, his arm draped over Jackson's chest; Aaron lifted his face until his mouth could reach Jackson's lips, until he could kiss him again.

"I'm not going to argue with that," he said as their lips slid apart. He rested his head on Jackson's chest, relishing the smell of sex and sweat mingling on their damp bodies. He let his fingers play on the soft skin in the curve of Jackson's neck, watching the play of emotion crossing Jackson's face.

"I can hear your heart beating," murmured Aaron. "It's going very fast."

"Are you surprised?" Jackson chuckled.

Aaron moved his fingers down to Jackson's nipple, circling it without touching it yet. "Do you think I've made the right decision?" he asked.

In the semi-darkness, Jackson said nothing for a moment. "You talked it through with Finn, with Robbie and Simon, with me even; and it always comes down to you being the only one who knows what knowledge you can live with." He paused again. "Or without."

He thought Aaron had fallen asleep, the silence stretched for so long. He felt his own eyes beginning to close.

"It was good of Finn to come down like that, wasn't it; and Greg too of course. But it must be a busy time for Finn, with the church...Christmas and all that." His voice was quiet in the midnight blue of their bedroom. "It is the right decision though," his voice was full of certainty. "I don't care; I've got everything – everyone – I need." He moved slightly, twisting so that he could look up into Jackson's eyes.

"Okay," Jackson said slowly.

"And Jackson," began Aaron, "d'you mind if we never speak of it again. Never wonder about it."

"Nah, that's fine by me," said Jackson. "I thought you'd gone to sleep," he murmured, letting one finger trail slowly along the firm curve of Aaron's back.

"Was just thinking," answered Aaron. "I'm not really tired just yet."

"Oh? Are you not?" Jackson moved a little, easing Aaron further on top of him. "In that case I'm gonna kiss you again and then I'm gonna make love to you."

Moving quickly, surprising Aaron, he pushed him, at the same time sliding out from underneath his body. Almost before he could resist – had he wanted to resist – Jackson was kneeling across his buttocks, leaning forward along the length of his back; as he sought his lips. Aaron turned his face as far as he could towards Jackson; he tried to raise his shoulders, ease his chest up on his hands but quickly Jackson pushed him down, capturing his hands above his head.

"You're mine, Livesy," he whispered; finding his lips, he kissed them quickly. "And you are just gonna have to lie there and take it."

Underneath him, Jackson could already feel Aaron groaning, trying to thrust the ache building again in his cock hard into the bed.

"Don't move your hands," Jackson whispered in his ear as he slowly let his fingers release Aaron's hands. Then he began kissing the soft skin at Aaron's neck. Moving down, alternating the gentlest kisses with his tongue licking, flicking, finding the most sensitive spots down the long length of his back. Slowly, so slowly; Jackson was intent on making Aaron last as long as possible and there was no rush; they had all night.

Easing his position slightly, the explorations of his tongue had reached the sensitive fold of skin between the round swell of his buttocks. He could hear Aaron's breathing becoming harder, faster; he could see his fists clenching, feel his body tensing, his arse arching upwards to meet his teasing tongue.

Further Jackson explored that tantalising crevice, letting his tongue travel lower. He slid his hands under Aaron's hips, raising them enough to give him the angle he needed as he slid his own body lower down the bed.

Even before his tongue reached his goal; the flower of Aaron's arse, he knew that it was tensing, puckering in anticipation of his tongue flicking around it, over it, exciting him until he pushed it in; just a little.

Groaning, unable to help himself, Aaron pushed his hands, his face, his chest into the bed as he raised his arse closer towards Jackson's face, pushing backwards, demanding with his body driven almost beyond control yet wanting more, so much more than the subtle penetration of his tongue. Even so, it felt good; teasing him, turning him on even more, flaming his desire; unable to help himself, he began thrusting his hips, his swollen cock against the bed.

Feeling his movements; stopping his licking, Jackson pulled Aaron round onto his back.

"Ah no you don't babes," he laughed. "You're not wasting that on the bed; I want to look into your eyes as I fill you, as I rub against you and feel you explode; I want to taste your..."

"Shit Jay! Just do it!" Aaron gasped. "You're such a fucking turn on; the way you touch me, the way..."

"Hush!" Jackson leaned forward, slid a finger into Aaron's mouth, silencing him, letting him suck it, just for a second.

Holding Aaron's eyes with his own, Jackson slid his hands around Aaron's legs, lifting them to his shoulders, raising his arse, his entrance.

Slowly, so slowly he moved, letting the head of his cock nuzzle against the welcoming petals of Aaron's arse for a second before he pushed; watching, drinking in every expression on Aaron's face as he flung his head backwards, arching his back, letting him further in. Then he was thrusting, gently at first, careful of his lover's tender place until he couldn't help himself; could do nothing but push harder, faster, knowing he was hurting Aaron, knowing that was part of it, until he knew he was on the verge of exploding, until he could stay the crescendo no more. Arching his body close over Aaron, they came together, stars filling their eyes, their night and their world, uniting them.

...

Aaron slouched down the road towards the garage, huddled into an old jacket of Paddy's against the biting cold. It smelt a bit; smelt of animals, of...actually he didn't want to think too closely of what the other smells ingrained in the old fabric might be; by the end of the day it would smell of oil, grease and all the other muck of the day from the garage.

He yawned; then smiled to himself, too many late nights; but then! even early nights tended to become late nights; it was just impossible for him to keep his hands off Jackson; off that firm, muscular body, off...he let the jacket fall open, tipped his head back a little to let the bitter air whip his hot thoughts away.

The double wooden doors of the garage were still locked; he rattled them briefly before delving into his pocket for his keys. He wasn't that sharp; it was unusual for Cain not to be there before him; grumbling and moaning.

...

Cain had seen him go past; seen him sauntering by, his smiling face tipped up to the sky, seeming as though he hadn't a care in his world. He needed to get his head into gear; needed to get out there, get back to work, back to making money, wheeling and dealing. But somehow his heart was missing.

...

Aaron already had a mug of coffee half drunk when he heard the small, inner door open and close. He had the radio playing quietly and was whistling tunelessly as he bent deep into the engine of the first car of the day.

"Top up?" asked Cain, nodding towards the mug.

"Yeah. Thanks," said Aaron, not looking up. He was okay, he said to himself, biting his lower lip in concentration; he really was okay, but now, just for the moment, he wanted to be left in peace to get on. He didn't want to be dragged back to thinking again.

He grunted his thanks as Cain replaced the mug beside him; he tried not to notice that he lingered, just a second or two longer than he needed to; that he took a breath, as though he was about to speak. But he didn't.

For a while, Aaron watched him from the corner of his eye, waited for him to come back, to catch him. It was a while before he realised he wasn't going to; it was a while before he could relax.

...

He couldn't stand it any longer, couldn't stand watching him and wondering; it was messing with his head too much; he couldn't breathe, couldn't think – he needed to get out. Growling briefly to Debbie, not caring if Aaron heard him or not, he said the first thing that came into his head; he said he was going to Hotton for parts. Grabbing his keys, he could hardly stop himself from running from the garage so keen was his need to get out of the stifling atmosphere of the garage.

Jumping into his car, revving! accelerating! he lurched up the short lane to the main street, taking the corner faster than was safe; he quickly put the village behind him. He didn't care about Hotton, about parts; he just drove; drove away from the village down the winding country lanes, putting as much distance between himself and Emmerdale as he could.

At last, screeching, he came to a halt in a lay by. Switching off the engine, he closed his eyes; discovered his breathing was fast, laboured; and for a while, for a minute, for an hour, for time that he couldn't measure, he sat in silence, trying to calm his body down even as his mind still raced.

Why did it matter? The question chased around in his head; it didn't matter, it couldn't matter. The uncertainty twisted itself around every thought; a black pit, a swirling morass dragging him down into it. What did it matter? His daughter mattered; she had been lost to him for years but now he loved her with all his heart, with every fibre of his being; he would fight for her, die for her. She didn't know it; he didn't show it, but it was there, a hot, glowing nugget of love, warming his soul.

But his son? Was he his son? Did it matter?

Oh God! It mattered! More than he could ever have believed! His eyes sprung wide open but he stared into nothingness; his breathing was ragged with emotion despite his struggle to control it. Yes! It mattered; more than he could find the words to say! He had to know, for once, for certain!

Did it matter that he wanted it so much; that he wanted it to be; that he wanted him to be his son. Anything else; even the thought of it...an icy chill that had nothing to do with the bitter cold penetrating the car flooded his body. He couldn't even think of that; not now, not yet, not ever!

He sat longer, nursing the pain of not knowing, in his heart. He needed to move, needed to get back to Emmerdale; needed to talk to him, make him understand that he had to know.

He still felt starved of oxygen; he felt lightheaded, dizzy; he put his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes, rubbing unexpected dampness from his face.

He needed to get away; suddenly it was imperative that he get away, get back to the garage as fast as possible.

Instinct took him down the lanes, choosing the right turns to bring him back to Emmerdale. Slower now; he didn't want anyone to know; he didn't want to share his mood with any of them. Slowing to a halt, he parked carefully, climbed out of the car, closed the door. He dropped the keys into his pocket, surprised to feel a small, firm piece of paper there. He pulled it out, it was almost as though he hadn't seen it before. But he had; it had been slipped into his hand. A telephone number; a man offering his help, his support, an ear to listen; in a sudden, jerking movement he ripped the small card in half, in half again; stuffing the remnants back in his pocket.

The radio was still playing; mugs still littered the workbench, one was even abandoned on top of a dark Volvo, the outside of it oil-stained, finger-marked. At first, in the darkness, he could see nothing, but the sound of voices, the sound of laughter drew him into the darker depths of the back room of the garage.

They were sitting together on the old car seats; sitting as though neither of them had a care in the world; his daughter and his…

"Not like you to let the workers slack," he snarled sarcastically at Debbie.

"Oh Dad!" she exclaimed. "Lighten up! We were just getting a coffee; it's damned cold working on the cars, even with the doors shut, these heaters don't give out much heat."

"Well why don't you go home, get a proper warm," he replied, his tone making it clear; this was not a suggestion. "I want a word with Aaron anyway."

She was about to argue, he knew she was, he could tell by the look on her face, that defiant look that reminded him of….too many Dingles. But he said nothing, just waited as, seeing his black expression, she thought better of it for once, as she scrambled out of the sagging seat and wove her way amongst the debris and clutter of the garage. She gave one, backward, glance at Aaron over her shoulder before shutting the door on them both.

Aaron didn't move from his slouched, sitting position, his legs bent, his heels resting on the very edge of the seat, his arms resting casually on his knees, still holding his coffee. He just waited, wondering what Cain wanted to talk to him about; fearing he knew – and dreading it.

Cain didn't look at him; he couldn't for the moment. He moved, paced a few steps around the back room; now that he was here, in front of him, waiting, he wasn't sure what to say.

"So," he began.

"So?" retorted Aaron, still waiting.

"So you okay to be back at work," he continued. "If you need more time off…to think…or whatever."

"Nothing to think about now," replied Aaron shortly, starting to get up, starting to go back to work, starting to end the conversation even before it began.

"Aaron!" his voice was sharp, making the younger man turn.

"What?" he questioned, irritation beginning to colour his tone.

"I'll give you the specimen, you need to do the test. You need to know," he said. "And Chas will need to think about the other blokes…" he added, an afterthought, he didn't really care about them, if it was them. He only needed to know if it was him; if Aaron was his son or his nephew.

"I don't need the specimen from you," said Aaron. "I don't need it because I'm not doing the test."

"What d'you mean? Not doing the test?"

"What I said. I'm not doing it."

"Don't be daft!" exclaimed Cain. "Of course you're doing it. You've got to!"

"I don't _have_ to do anything! anything! I don't want to!" said Aaron angrily.

"But you need to know," Cain spluttered, shocked, hiding it in his own growing anger as he tried to keep the chill fear that was growing in his heart at bay.

"I don't care, Cain," Aaron almost yelled, his face dark with anger. "Don't you understand! I don't care anymore! I don't care if it's you or Gordon or some random bloke she picked up and shagged on a one night stand..."

Neither of them heard the garage door quietly open. Neither of them were aware of the tall, raven-haired figure coming quietly towards them. Neither of them were aware of her until her sharp voice cut across their argument.

"Aaron!"


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

"Aaron!"

Her voice cut through the air, through the argument, silencing them both.

"What's going on here?" she asked; as though she couldn't guess, looking between them, looking at two dark, furious faces. "Well! Is someone gonna tell me?" she demanded as neither man spoke.

"It's him," snarled Aaron, "keeps going on about the damned test. And I keep telling him, I'm not doing it; I don't need to know. But is he listening to me? Is he fuck!"

"Aaron!" exclaimed Chas, "language!" She paused. "I get that you're angry – both of you..." she glared at each of them in turn, "...but yelling at each other won't do any good."

"It's him," growled Cain, "he's just being stupid. As usual!"

Neither Chas nor Aaron said anything, both of them waiting.

"I was just trying to tell him...he doesn't understand. It's important...he needs to know; we all need to know; we need to do the test!" Cain's voice grew louder, but perhaps less certain, trying to convince himself, as he tried to imprint his own need upon Aaron.

"Aaron, perhaps..." began Chas.

"No! Can you not get it through your heads, either of you; that I have thought and thought about this; it's been running round and round, doing my head in for almost a week. But no more!" Aaron stopped, bit his lip, breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself. "No more. I don't care. I don't want to talk about it anymore; I don't want to listen to it anymore."

He pushed roughly passed Chas; he had to get out of there. He had made his decision; he was happy, at peace with it; and if he regretted it later, discovered it was the wrong decision, well! That was his problem, not theirs. It wasn't up to them; whatever they had done, whatever mistakes they had made, they weren't going to mess with his head anymore.

"I'm done for the day," he said, stopping at the door. "And dock it out my wages," he continued, "glaring at Cain, "I don't care."

The door creaked on its old hinges as it swung heavily with the force of his leaving.

For an interminable moment neither Cain nor Chas spoke; Chas watched the space where Aaron had been seconds before; she wasn't looking at Cain, wasn't seeing the play of emotions flashing across his face as he fought to regain some control, fought to school his face into its customary dark, glowering scowl.

"So...?" she said, extending the vowel into a question, turning to look at him. "Is there something you want to share with me? You seem very anxious that he should do the test; that you both should?"

Cain didn't answer; instead he bent to the cupboard under the sink, drawing out a bottle of rich amber liquid. Hardly showing two mugs a splash of water from the tap to rinse them; he poured generous measures into each, silently handing one to Chas.

"Bit early, even for you, isn't it?" she said, not refusing her mug, taking a sip as she finished speaking, pulling a face, half of distaste, half of appreciation as the malt slid off her tongue, setting a warm fire to her throat as she swallowed.

"I need to know, Chas," Cain said quietly, leaning against the cluttered workbench. "And I don't understand why he doesn't."

"He's young..." began Chas lamely. "Oh I don't know! Maybe he'll change his mind, come round. But we can't force him to take the test."

For a moment, Cain said nothing, just poured himself another drink; wordlessly he offered the bottle to Chas, refilling her mug as she held it towards him.

"We shouldn't have done it, should we... slept together," Cain mused quietly. "Look at all the hassle we've caused."

"But who knew?" countered Chas. "We were young; so young, so stupid...and Dingles."

"Is there anything? anything you know, you can remember, Chas?" he asked, his voice at last revealing his pain to her.

She was going to deny him; going to protest that she knew nothing more than she had already told him, yet something stilled the words before they left her mouth; a memory; a memory still fresh and raw in her mind; that calm, forgiving man, urging her to honesty. They had been speaking of Aaron then; but surely she owed as much to Cain, her brother, her cousin, her lover.

"I believed it was Gordon," she said, a sob catching quietly in her voice, "but it's not, so..." she shrugged, paused. "Cain; there really weren't so many other lads – not then. Oh! I'm not saying I've been an angel; but then...I don't think so. I just can't be sure, not one hundred percent sure. I'm so sorry!"

Cain shook his head, "No, it's okay," he said slowly as he thought about what she said. "Even if you told me you were sure, totally sure; I couldn't be sure. And I need to be sure." His voice faded away to a whisper; he was talking more to himself now than Chas.

"But would we have done anything differently if we had known, if I had been sure at the time?" mused Chas.

"You wouldn't have married Gordon," said Cain, accusingly.

"I might have done," countered Chas. "I wouldn't have married you; couldn't have," she smiled wanly at him. "They would never have allowed that; that would have been a step too far. Besides...there was always Charity."

Chas swallowed the last of her whisky, glad of the drink, despite the early hour. She wanted to get out, to get away from Cain, away from the neediness that was so unlike him.

Cain only nodded as she said goodbye, made her escape. He felt sick; his stomach was churning, twisting his guts upon themselves; he needed to do something, anything; he couldn't leave things as they stood, he'd crack up and he didn't do cracking up; this wasn't him. Putting down his mug, he slid his hand into his jacket pocket; he brought out four small, torn pieces of paper. Holding them carefully, aligning their edges, he could still read the telephone number. He breathed out in relief; he would be doing something. He locked the doors to the garage before he started keying in the number.

...

Aaron stalked up the road past the Woolpack; he wished it was later, wished he could go in and knock back a pint or three. Why couldn't they leave him alone? Why couldn't they understand? Did they think he hadn't thought about it? Did they think he didn't realise all the implications of his choice?

He slammed the door of Smithy behind him, but there was no noise, no shout from the surgery; Paddy must be out he realised. He was glad about that...he thought he was glad about that. He thought about phoning Jackson; but it wasn't even lunchtime yet, he'd be busy, in the middle of building something; he could wait until later to speak to him.

He went up the stairs to their bedroom; it was cold, they had left the window open that morning, they had needed to leave the window open that morning; he smiled, remembering, as he closed it now. Peeling off his work clothes, throwing them in a corner of the room; he slipped across the hall to the bathroom.

The hot, cascading water of the shower began to sooth him; for a few minutes he just stood, his eyes closed, letting the water flow over him. It was easy standing in the water, safe; he didn't need to think about anything else except the water touching him, warming him. He reached for the shower gel; soap would have done him, but Jackson had this thing...he smiled as the smell reached him; a smell of Jackson's choice, a smell that meant Jackson to him. He filled the palm of his hand with the fragrant gel; placing the bottle carefully down, he began rubbing his body, smoothing the gently foaming gel over his chest, his arms; lower to his legs, higher...thoughts of Jackson reaching his cock, making him hard; the heat of the water mingling with the heat of his thoughts. Quickly, urgently, his hands worked; easing himself, spilling his load, letting it mix and mingle with the drenching water until he felt spent and vaguely satisfied.

There was still no sign of anyone else when he came downstairs a few minutes later; he threw a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and considered what he should do with his unexpected afternoon off. He glanced at this watch; there would be a bus to Hotton in twenty minutes; he could go into town, have a look for Jackson's Christmas present; have a drink in Bar West even. As he ate, juggling his toast with one hand, he flipped his phone open with the other, meaning to send Jackson a quick text; his eye caught the last text he had received; Simon. Simon who was on his Christmas holidays. With a few deft strokes he sent a message, a suggestion; seconds later he received a reply, a confirmation; Bar West, ASAP. Smiling, glad to be able to escape, glad to have company; he grabbed his jacket and slammed the door as he left.

Simon already had the pints lined up when Aaron walked into Bar West, his own already half drunk.

"Have you eaten?" he greeted him.

"Toast. Why? Who are you anyway? My mother?" grumbled Aaron good naturedly in reply, sliding into the seat beside Simon, then lifting his pint.

"No, I'm one of the blokes who had a hell of a hangover yesterday after being out with you the night before," smirked Simon. "So we'll have this pint, then go and get a burger or something. Deal?"

"Deal," grinned Aaron, glad that Simon hadn't immediately started questioning him about the reason for his text; the reason for his surprising suggestion to meet.

For lunchtime, for a weekday, there was a steady stream of people coming into, leaving Bar West.

"Him," said Simon, bumping his shoulder against Aaron's, bumping him from his reverie. "Out of ten?"

Aaron looked to where he nodded, to the guy leaning up against the bar, his eyes flashing round the room.

"Seven and a half, maybe eight in a good light. What?" he added as he saw the look on Simon's face.

"As much as that!" Simon exclaimed. "Thought he'd be way to pretty for you."

"Oh I can like pretty," laughed Aaron. "I just wouldn't want to wake up next to it!"

"So Jackson's not pretty then," teased Simon.

"Jackson is drop dead gorgeous," said Aaron firmly, in a voice that would brook no disagreement.

"So him then," said Simon, looking back to the man at the bar. "Kiss, suck or fuck?"

"Suck," said Aaron decidedly. "What about you?"

"Oh no! I bet he's hot between the sheets; so fuck! I definitely would!" grinned Simon.

"Him," said Aaron, indicating another man.

"Bit old," pronounced Simon, "so just a suck...maybe...if I'm feeling charitable."

Aaron laughed; it felt good, not having to think, to worry; just able to enjoy the banter for a while.

Once their pints were finished, Simon insisted they left Bar West; they walked down the street, soon turning into a small cafe, a place Aaron hadn't been to before.

"Best burgers in town here," said Simon as they were shown to a table. "You ok if I text Robbie, tell him we're here if he can get away for a late lunch?"

"Yeah, sure. I'd better text Jackson too; let him know I'm not at work."

"Any chance of him joining us?" asked Simon.

"Nah," replied Aaron, his eyes on the screen; he's miles away today.

For a minute or two they were both silent, concentrating on their phones until Simon laughed.

"Oh dear, poor Robbie! He sounds in such a foul mood!" he said.

"What's up?" questioned Aaron.

"He's at a job and he says it's gonna take him all day to sort out some DIY-ers botch up! So it's just you and me for burgers."

"That's fine," said Aaron. He had picked up a menu, was trying to look at the dishes on offer, trying to decide what to have, trying to decide what to say to Simon.

They ordered.

"Cain was doing my head in," Aaron blurted out as the young waitress walked away. "And my mum."

"Perhaps they are worried about you?" suggested Simon.

"Yeah, I get that," admitted Aaron. "But it's like they don't think I can make my own decision; no, they don't respect the decision I have made."

"The test?" questioned Simon, although he was pretty sure he knew what Aaron was talking about.

"Yeah," confirmed Aaron. "And I'm not going to have it – and I know I might regret that later, but I'm happy to take my chance and go with how I feel now. I just don't understand why they can't let it rest."

"That's oldies for you," sympathised Simon,

"Anyway, thanks for letting me drag you away from whatever you were doing."

"Hey! No worries; I was only doing some lesson planning for next term so this is much more fun. Even if you are a grumpy git!"

"Oh ha ha!" Aaron pulled a face at him as the waitress placed their meals in front of them.

...

After making his telephone call, he had been able to submerge himself in his work for a while, for a couple of hours, for some indeterminate amount of time as he worked on first one engine then another, his mind calmer. But he couldn't stop thinking.

Eventually he could stand it no longer; but in those hours he had settled on a plan, a course of action. He stopped at Tug Ghyll long enough to wash the oil of the day from himself, to put on fresh clothes.

Heading back out onto the street, there was no sign of anyone. He bypassed the Woolie although at that moment he could have murdered a pint. Passing the cafe, crossing the road, he glanced at the brass plaque at the door before he let himself into the surgery.

Paddy was sitting at the reception desk; expecting an anxious pet owner, he was shocked to see Cain appear.

"Cain...I...er...hello," he bumbled. "What do you...I mean...you've no animals," he finished lamely.

"The computer," said Cain briefly. "This internet stuff...how does it work?"

"Thought you had a computer at the garage," said Paddy bemused.

"Yeah, we do," Cain snapped, "but that's only for calibrating the computers in car engines, not actually finding out stuff." His voice was sharp; his anxiety was betrayed by the tension in his body. "I need to know how to find out stuff."

"Stuff?" questioned Paddy. "What sort of stuff?

"Just stuff...things..." snarled Cain.

"But you need to be more specific," began Paddy awkwardly. "It depends what you want to know, how you ask the question."

Cain spun on his heels, letting lose a snarl of frustration. He hadn't wanted to tell anyone; he hadn't wanted to tell Paddy, but computers had passed him by and he needed to know.

Turning back, his mind made up.

"I need to know how to get a DNA test," he breathed. "But if you ever tell anyone, Paddy..."

He left the threat hanging in the air between them.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

"Are you threatening me?" asked Paddy quietly, apprehension clear in his voice?

"Yes," growled Cain; he looked up at the ceiling briefly, biting his lip. "No Paddy, it's just…" He paused again. "It's just that I can't cope without knowing. Aaron can - and I don't understand how - but it's driving me daft!"

"Cain, he…" began Paddy.

"I just need to know Paddy!" exclaimed Cain. "Christ! You've been more of a dad to that lad in the last couple of years than anyone; how would you feel if he could really be yours and you didn't know! And I haven't even been much of an uncle to him, let alone anything else; and it's eating me up inside, not knowing."

"So what were you going to do? Steal a bit of his hair to get a test done or something?" Paddy chuckled as he spoke.

Beside him, Cain turned away, suddenly interested in the posters lining the surgery wall.

"You were!" said Paddy incredulously. "You were going to steal a specimen from him! You can't do that Cain!"

"I know but…!"

"You need to talk to him, Cain. Properly; calmly, not flying off the handle; either of you."

"I know; that's what Finn said, but he's adamant," replied Cain.

"Finn?" questioned Paddy. "When did you speak to Finn?

"I phoned hima couple of hours ago,"Cain admitted reluctantly. "He left me his number"

"Who'd have thought it," chuckled Paddy, "Cain Dingle talking to a minister?"

"And if you breathe a word to anyone, Paddy Kirk, I really will kill you!" There was no malice in Cain's tone this time; the two men looked at each other, a look of understanding passing between them; a look that could almost have been a smile.

"There's some cans in the fridge, if you want one," said Paddy.

"Now you're talking, Paddy," grinned Cain.

"Grab one for me too," called Paddy as Cain disappeared. "I'll be through in a minute."

Watching him, Paddy shook his head to himself. They had never been best of friends; truth be told he was always a bit afraid of the raw aggression that constantly surrounded Cain; but suddenly he suspected it was just a mask, a carapace. There was more to Cain than he had imagined.

Cain wassprawled on the couch, channel hopping with the remote through the mindless late afternoon television when Paddy came through from the surgery. He picked up a can from the table, pulled it open and flung himself into the armchair opposite Cain.

"So have you actually told him how you feel? How much you need to know?" asked Paddy, taking a long slurp from his can.

"No," replied Cain scornfully.

"So you have been telling him that you need to do the test because he needs to know," clarified Paddy. "When, in fact, you need to do the test because you need to know."

Cain said nothing, only scowled into his beer; a scowl Paddy took for assent.

"So you need to talk…explain to him…" continued Paddy.

"How can I," growled Cain, "he stormed off saying he never wants to speak about it again."

"Give him a day or two to calm down," said Paddy, butting in as Cain prepared to speak again, "and don't mention it meantime. Then, if you want, we'll talk to him together."

Cain glowered, saying nothing, the only outward sign of his mood, of his agitation the restless movement of his fingers teasing and tormenting the ring-pull on the top of the can; twisting it until it came away in his fingers. He looked at it, surprise suddenly flashing across his face, so lost in his own world, in his own thoughts, had he been.

"Cain? Are you alright?" Suddenly anxious, Paddy looked at him, scared of his silence.

Cain heaved himself from the sofa, dropping the remote behind him.

"Yeah…just…look, I'm going back to the garage for a bit. And no; I won't say anything so don't get your frillies flustered."

Cain slammed the door behind him; he hadn't meant to, he wasn't angry at Paddy; if anything he was angry at himself. The cold air hit him square in the face; he thought about going back, sharing another can with Paddy, forcing the demons back into the dark recesses of his mind. Shrugging deeper into his jacket, he began to walk quickly down the gentle hill towards the garage.

From his pocket, he heard his phone give the chirp of a text message arriving; pulling it out, glancing at the name on the screen, he smiled; the man must be psychic as well as everything else. Changing his mind; changing his plans, he turned into the path to the front door of Tug Ghyll; he didn't need to be alone, didn't need the emptiness of the garage; there were people he could talk to, could help him through this nightmare of uncertainty.

…..

Bar West was busy when Jackson walked in; he hadn't been back to Emmerdale since finishing his work, but Aaron had been keen for him to join them. Jackson saw him immediately, standing at the bar, waiting to be served. Moving quietly behind him, Jackson pressed close behind him, slid his hands over his eyes.

"Guess who," he whispered.

"I'd recognize that hard-on anywhere," laughed Aaron, twisting round into his arms.

"I haven't got a hard-on," protested Jackson.

"Stay there for thirty seconds and you will have," smirked Aaron, pushing himself against Jackson's hips.

"How much have you had to drink this afternoon?" questioned Jackson.

"Not that much actually," said Aaron. "And we went for a burger, so no, I am not drunk. Just happy to see you," he added, pushing harder against Jackson, letting his hand move down to his groin, feeling Jackson's quickly growing cock, letting his blue eyes, sparkling with desire, with mischief, hold Jackson's dark eyes, offering an unspoken invitation. Glancing to where Simon was obliviously chatting to someone, Aaron grasped Jackson's hand and pulled him after him towards the gents.

Pushing quickly through the door, Aaron dragged Jackson to the nearest cubical. Pushing him in, slamming the door behind him, remembering to lock it, Aaron shoved Jackson against the wall. Overcome with desire, with need, he crashed his lips against Jackson's; feeling his immediate response as his mouth opened, as their tongues met, touched, teased, danced with each other, fought with each other. As their kiss ended, he held his body hard against Jackson, feeling him grow against him, taking Jackson's hands, he pinned them to the wall above his head, wanting, for the moment, to have complete control of Jackson's body. Holding his eyes steadily with his own, Aaron's fingers began fumbling with the buttons on Jackson's jeans, undoing them slowly, one by one, letting the anticipation he knew Jackson was feeling mount; increasing the tension, the desire crackling between them until he could feel Jackson's hard cock straining against the soft material of his boxers.

He eased the jeans lower, pushing them down over Jackson's narrow hips out of his way, letting his hand slide unhindered beneath the waistband of his boxers, down, until he could clasp Jackson firmly, feel his pulsing, rigid cock aching for him.

"Fuck Aaron," gasped Jackson, "don't mess about; I'm gonna come in seconds!"

"No you're not," growled Aaron huskily, "hold on for as long as you can; it'll be better!"

Groaning as quietly as he could, yet not caring if anyone came into the loos, if anyone heard them, Jackson gave himself up to the feelings flooding his body, letting Aaron's hands touch him, caress him, work him to a rapid frenzy of excitement.

Quickly Aaron moved his hand up and down Jackson's swollen cock, watching the play of emotions across his face, watching his struggle for control, watching the moment he lost it, giving himself up to Aaron's touch, watching him get closer.

It was hard to change his position in the small space; as Aaron slid down to take Jackson's cock in his mouth his back pressed hard against the opposite wall of the small cubical. But he needed to taste Jackson; take him in his mouth, use his lips, his teeth, his tongue to give the final burst of pleasure to his lover; to bring to a crescendo the quick, urgent fuck.

Jackson couldn't help himself; his body moved of its own volition; thrusting, he needed to push his cock as far into Aaron's willing mouth as he could. He was close, seconds away from coming, from filling his lovers mouth with his juice, making him swallow him; everything. Clinging to Aaron's hoodie, pulling him harder, closer; his own needs taking him for the moment, Jackson shuddered as he came; his body arching, aching, exploding before relaxing against Aaron as his mouth released him, as he stood, taking Jackson in his arms, holding him, as their breathing slowly returned to normal.

"Later," whispered Jackson as he leant into Aaron's heaving chest. "I'm having you…just as soon as we get home to bed."

"I'll hold you to that," smiled Aaron; he licked his lips, he could still taste Jackson on him, in him; could still feel the fire of hot lust coursing through his body. Quickly he pulled Jackson to him, kissing him again, making him taste himself in that kiss.

The bar was even busier minutes later as they threaded their way back towards the place they had last seen Simon, he wasn't there but they quickly found him leaning on a pool cue, intently watching as his opposition left a complex shot for him.

"Hey Jackson!" he grinned, "didn't see you come?"

"No?" said Jackson vaguely, trying not to smile too widely at his words. "Thought I'd better come and take Aaron home before he gets to be a pain."

"Actually, for a grumpy git, he's not bad company," teased Simon, laughing aloud as Aaron pulled a face at him. "You staying for a pint?"

"No, not this time, mate," said Jackson. "Want to get home, get a shower, feeling filthy after work…"

Beside him, Aaron smirked, turning it quickly into a cough.

"But we can do something another night; maybe at the weekend," continued Jackson, ignoring him.

"Sure thing," grinned Simon.

…

As they drove out of Hotton, inky darkness surrounded the van, the street lights receding behind them. They didn't speak; Jackson drove, concentrating on the road, concentrating on the feel of Aaron's hand resting lightly on his leg, his fingers occasionally moving, unconsciously caressing small arcs across his thigh.

Aaron gazed out of the window, gazed into the darkness, his mind already in their bedroom, his body already anticipating the touch of his lover. A ghost of a smile touched his lips in the shadows.

Pulling up outside Smithy, Paddy's car was already in the drive.

Aaron jumped from the van, "I'll get his keys and move his car so you can get in first," he called, already half way to the door.

There was a scatter of empty cans decorating the table as Aaron flung himself into the room.

"Not like you to hit the lager when you're on call, Paddy," said Aaron cheerfully, heading for the kitchen where the keys habitually hung. "Just gonna move your car to let Jackson in first."

"Er..yes…right…Aaron, they're not all mine," Paddy tried to explain, twisting as he spoke, trying to follow Aaron's rapid progress across the room. "Aaron! Stand still will you! I'm trying to talk to you!" he exclaimed.

"Sorry Pads, no time," Aaron called. "Just gonna sort the cars then we've…er…we've got a new DVD to watch upstairs."

"But it's about Cain and…I just need to talk…." His words tailed away as Aaron spun back to face him.

"No, Paddy. No!" snapped Aaron. "I told Cain today; I don't want to know…I don't care and I don't want to hear any more about it; so give it a rest eh?"

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the room before Paddy had a chance to say anything; to even begin to plant the seeds of Cain's need in Aaron's mind.

Aaron revved Paddy's car angrily as he backed out the short distance, giving Jackson room to drive in before reversing in behind him.

"What the matter with you?" said Jackson, after Aaron had slammed the door and locked the car.

"Paddy started on about Cain," growled Aaron crossly.

"They'll get the message eventually," said Jackson.

"But I've told them and told them," groaned Aaron, his flash of temper easing. "When are they gonna start listening to me."

"Hey," said Jackson, pushing him gently against the van; letting his fingers trail down his chest, "you're not gonna let them spoil our evening, are you?"

"I told him we had a DVD to watch," chuckled Aaron.

"We'd better go and watch it then, hadn't we," replied Jackson, holding Aaron's eyes for a moment.

Between them, the electricity of desire flashed, a fire held in anticipation for a few seconds before they went into the house, to their room, to their bed.

….

In Tug Ghyll he wasn't alone; but surrounded by people, by family, he retreated for a while into his own, quiet, world. He answered the text; a long message then waited for a reply. A reply that seemed to take forever to come as he tried to ignore the chaos building around him. At last, at last less than five minutes later, a reply.

Dread building, he read it…and smiled.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Aaron walked down the street towards the garage; he was in a good mood and no one, not Cain, not his mother, was going to change that he vowed to himself as he walked quickly against the biting cold.

He could hear music coming from behind the closed doors of the garage; that was the first thing that struck him as odd; Cain hated the radio on…well, he hated Radio1, Aaron thought as he pulled open the small inner door. It was already warm inside; someone had been in for a while.

"Morning!" he called.

"At the back," Debbie's voice reached him from the small room that held the kettle; that had the old car seats jammed against the wall, seats that she was sprawled on, holding a warming mug between her hands.

"Kettle's just boiled," she said as Aaron stuck his head into the small room. "Dad's away," she said seeing the questioning look on his face.

Relief flooded through him. Moving further in, he flicked the switch on the kettle and grabbing a mug, spooned coffee into it. "So where's he away to then?" he asked, reaching for the milk, sniffing it, before pouring a slurp into his mug.

"Got up this morning, said he was away on business and was out of the door before I had a chance to ask him anything more," replied Debbie.

"He'll be back with some flash motor later then," said Aaron, settling beside Debbie.

"I don't know," mused Debbie, "he was looking kind of…dressed, if you know what I mean."

"So he's off with some hot totty then," said Aaron, pulling a face as he spoke.

For a moment they sat in companionable silence, listening to the radio, letting the early morning thump of the music fill their minds.

"We got much on today?" asked Aaron eventually.

"Nothing that can't wait," said Debbie. "Actually a couple of things we should get done. D'you fancy blitzing them with me then going shopping?"

"Hotton?"

"Leeds," said Debbie firmly. "Christmas isn't so far away; I need to get the rest of Sarah's presents. What have you got Jackson?"

"Nothing so far," admitted Aaron. "There's just been too much going on to think about it; the court case, being away, then Gordon…y'know," he finished lamely.

"What are you gonna get him?" asked Debbie, nursing her now empty mug but making no move to get up, begin working.

"Dunno," replied Aaron, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well you've not got long to think of something," said Debbie cheerfully. "Right, come on, let's get on, then we can hit the shops."

Aaron looked at Debbie, looked at her angular features, looked at her dyed blonde hair pulled back harshly from her face, her dark roots showing; looked at her...trying to see any similarity to the face he saw in the mirror every morning. Filling his head, so suddenly, the idea that she could be his sister, the idea that she could be more than some cousin, some tangled Dingle relation.

He almost physically shook his head, jumping up, flashing his mug under a rapid splash of running water; he couldn't think like that; couldn't have those thoughts running loose around his head, teasing him, casting doubts upon his decision. He was right! He was fine with his choice! He didn't need to know!

Running from the sudden turmoil chasing his thoughts, he turned his attention to the first job of the morning; he needed it to last; to last the morning through, to last until Debbie had forgotten, to last until he was calm again.

...

The roads north were quiet as he headed towards the motorway. As the car ate up the miles Cain whistled tunelessly to himself, trying not to think of the coming meeting. He still couldn't quite believe he had dropped everything and was heading to Hexham to meet a man he had seen barely a couple of times; who he had spoken to on the telephone once, who had answered his text last night by saying come north and talk to him. A man who was a minister, a man he would normally poke fun at, a man who was...unique.

He pressed the button switching the CD player on, turning the volume up loud, letting the insistent rhythm fill the car, fill his mind, fill the miles and keep panic at bay. He could have turned round; he almost did every mile, every moment sickening nerves flooded through his body, threatening to crush his resolve.

It was mid morning when he reached the old, historic town; he pulled in briefly to look at the directions Finn had sent him by text the night before. Swinging back into the traffic, in a couple of turns he was at the entrance of the drive leading down to the vicarage.

He let the car crawl, almost taking itself but all the while moving forward, closer, until he could see the front door, until there was no escape as the door opened.

His face was set into its usual frown; a forbidding surliness that successfully hid any deeper feelings from his family, from his acquaintances, from the world at large.

Finn didn't seem to see it; he bounded up to the car, his sunny, open face smiling in welcome, his hand held out in greeting, his ministerial garb flowing around him, dark against the brilliant blondness of the halo of his hair. Without quite being able to say how it happened; Cain found himself in the large, homely kitchen, a large mug of fresh coffee in his hand and talking about his journey from Emmerdale.

He quickly learnt that Greg was out but would be back by lunchtime; lunch would be nothing fancy, there would be just the three of them, and of course he was staying!

Apologising, Finn explained that he had a couple of things to do in the Abbey.

"But walk across with me," invited Finn, "it's a beautiful building; it would be a shame not to see it now that you're here."

Minutes later, Cain found himself alone in the church; alone apart from a dozen or so other visitors, even now, even in the middle of December, milling round, just looking, feeling.

Cain wandered in no particular direction, no order to the path his feet took; looking around him, unsure what he was meant to be seeing, feeling. Yet unconsciously the scowl that was his common look, his defence, softened, just a little. Unconsciously the peace of the quiet building seeped into his bones.

Wandering enough, he sank into one of the seats, flicked through the short leaflet he had picked up from...somewhere; his eyes skimming over the words, his mind taking in nothing.

He felt rather than saw the presence slip into the seat behind him; fullness to the peace unexpectedly surrounding him; a peace that was not disturbed until he was ready to speak; a silence that was not uncomfortable as the minutes passed.

"I usually only go to church for weddings and funerals," said Cain at last.

"That's exactly what your vicar...Ashley is it?... said about Aaron," replied Finn quietly.

"Must be a Dingle thing," murmured Cain.

"Must be a two thirds of the population thing," responded Finn, the gentle smile in his voice clear to Cain's ears.

"Touché," said Cain.

"Except formy Uncle Shadrach's funeral," mused Cain, "we buried him in the garden."

The soft breath of a gentle laugh came from the seat behind him.

"Oh Ashley agreed to it," he added quickly, "took the service and everything." He paused. "I spent years thinking Shadrach was my dad; turns out my Uncle Zac had an affair with me mam. Chas and I are only half brother and sister, not that that makes it any better really, and we didn't know until years later. Until she was back in the village after she left Gordon."

"Ah," said Finn, understanding.

"When I found out..." Cain shook his head, "...for a while there I thought I was going mad. That's why I can't fathom Aaron; why he doesn't care, isn't bothered if I'm his dad or it's some nameless shag of Chastity's."

"Maybe he's so afraid of it being the nameless shag that it is easier for him not to find out either way," suggested Finn.

"Is that it? Is that what he said?" Cain turned eagerly towards Finn then, twisting in his seat until he could look the other man in the eyes.

Finn smiled. "You know I'm not going to tell you anything he said, Cain; just as I'm not going to tell him anything we've said - or even that I have seen you today unless you tell him first."

For a moment the two men lapsed into silence.

"I just didn't want..." began Cain at last; stopping quickly as he realised he could do nothing but confess to the emotion he was feeling, that was overwhelming him; that for days had been eating him up. "I just didn't want to tell him that I wanted him to do the test because I needed to know."

"It's hard, isn't it?" said Finn, "letting others, even our family, see through the chinks in our armour. But sometimes you've just got to let folk in, Cain, and the only way you can do that is by talking to him."

"Paddy said more or less the same thing," admitted Cain. "Even said he would talk to me with him."

"So why don't you take him up on his offer?" asked Finn.

"Because..." Cain paused, huffed a breath, bit his lip momentarily. "Will you come down and talk to him to with me." The last words were spoken hurriedly; an admission.

"Of course I will if you think it would make a difference," said Finn, "but why? Surely with Paddy..."

"No! You're different!" interrupted Cain. "He would listen to Paddy, but maybe not enough. If you were there too; if you agreed, told him it was a good idea..."

"It still has to be his choice, Cain. I can't make him do anything."

"I know," said Cain, an unexpected break of anguish cracking his voice.

Finn looked at the swarthy face of the man in front of him; a face that he knew was usually hidden in a scowl, a twist of sarcasm; a face now he guessed very few people had seen; a face laying bare to him his pain and anguish at a situation he had no control over; a situation that was unexpectedly ripping the heart out of him – if he would only admit it to the right person.

"Of course I'll come down; be there when you speak to him," said Finn. "I'll support you, be there for both of you...all of you if Paddy is there too. And Jackson. But I'm so sorry; I can't manage until after Christmas...I'm kind of busy until then." He gave a half smile, a self-depreciating shrug of his shoulders; some things had to come first.

"That's only days," said Cain. "I've waited almost twenty years; I can wait a few days more. Even until after New Year if it's easier for you."

Finn shook his head. "As soon as Christmas Day is over, I have a few days off; one of the other ministers is on duty then; so whatever day suits you."

"Come and stay a few days; make it a bit of a holiday; Aaron would like that; you and...Greg," Cain hesitated. "We'd find somewhere for you to stay."

Finn smiled. "Cain Dingle, you hide the good parts of yourself very well."

...

Aaron followed Debbie into the bar; he couldn't believe he had spent the afternoon trailing round Leeds with her; couldn't believe he was following her into a bar laden with her bags; how had that happened?

"Sit down, I'll get the drinks in," ordered Debbie, nodding towards an empty table. "Pint?"

"Yeah. Please," said Aaron, dumping the bags on the floor before sliding gratefully into the chair. He was shattered; a day at the garage with Cain yelling at him was less exhausting than shopping with Debbie.

"Well that's me just about finished my shopping," she said, handing him his pint and dropping tiredly into the seat opposite him. "But you still haven't got Jackson anything. Those chains were really nice," she added, seeing Aaron's face beginning to set into a frown.

"I know, but...he just likes the two he wears; he never takes them off," said Aaron, his fingers straying to the worn leather band tied round his wrist. "He's just not really a jewellery person."

"Clothes then," suggested Debbie. "There was some lovely stuff in the shops."

Aaron pulled a face, uninspired by her suggestions.

"What then?" continued Debbie. "Books, DVDs CDs..."

"He downloads his music from the internet," growled Aaron.

"iTunes voucher then," snapped Debbie. "Or what does he like? He must like something?"

"Painting," said Aaron quietly. "He likes painting."

"Painting?" questioned Debbie in surprise. "I didn't know...is he any good?"

"He's brilliant," said Aaron warmly, "well...I think he's brilliant. He enjoys it."

"So get him some paints or something," said Debbie in a voice that implied it was all sorted.

"I wouldn't know what to get," said Aaron.

"But Hazel would," said Debbie. "Text her."

A small smile touched the edges of Aaron's lips; maybe Debbie was right. He slipped his phone from his pocket, scrolled through the list of names until he found the one he wanted then typed a quick message. Pressing send, he sat the phone on the table; waiting.

"Jasmine and I came here a couple of times..." reflected Debbie quietly. "It was well away from home; no one knew us."

"You and her..." began Aaron, "were you...did you...I mean you're not with a girl now. How does that work for you?"

"I think it was just her," said Debbie, taking a sip from her drink; needing the liquid to ease the sudden dryness in her throat; needing the moment to compose her thoughts. "There hasn't been anyone else; any other girl."

"Do you think there ever will be?" asked Aaron

"No" replied Debbie, "at least, I don't think so; I'm happy enough being straight just now."

"So do you think you are," said Aaron, "straight I mean? Not bi?"

"Straight-ish," replied Debbie, staring thoughtfully into her glass, gently swirling the orange juice around. "Maybe a bit bi, I don't know. Probably just as well though," she finished abruptly.

"Why?" asked Aaron, puzzled.

"Because Dad would freak if both of us were gay," replied Debbie.

"Yeah," laughed Aaron, agreeing with her before he realised what she said; not my dad, your dad; just dad and both of us, linking them, tying them together by closer blood than the warp and weft of Dingle kinship.

"Do you think he is my dad?" his voice was quite, but he couldn't stop the thoughts leaving his mind, the question leaving his lips.

"It never crossed my mind before," said Debbie, "not until all this came up…then…"

"Then what?" prompted Aaron, an urgency in his voice.

"Then I noticed you were very alike," said Debbie quietly, her eyes steadily holding his for a moment; an acknowledgment, an acceptance.

Neither spoke, the enormity of the admission swirling between them.

The ping of Aaron's mobile suddenly filled the silence between them, breaking the tension. Flipping it open, Aaron read the message from Hazel.

He turned to screen towards Debbie, "D'you know where that is?" he asked.

"Yeah," she answered. "Drink up and lets go and get Jackson's Christmas sorted!"

Swallowing the last of his pint quickly, Aaron grabbed the bags and followed her from the bar; wishing he could leave the thoughts that once again crowded his mind behind with his empty glass.

…

Jackson waited in the almost empty car park; he had positioned the van so that he could see the entrance, so that he could watch for the vehicle he was expecting to arrive. It was dark; he left the engine running against the cold wishing he would hurry up so he could go home.

At last he saw the small van pull into the car park, driving slowly, looking for him; he flashed his lights once, twice then watched as the van came towards his own.

Opening his door, he jumped from his van as the other vehicle drew to a stop.

"Robbie!" he exclaimed, accepting a hug from the other man. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah, here it is," said Robbie, sliding an envelope from his jacket. "It's the package you wanted," he said, handing it over. "He's gonna love it!"

Jackson's eyes sparkled with excitement as he looked at the envelope in his hands

"That's brilliant mate," enthused Jackson. "I really can't thank you enough!"

"Ah no worries," replied Robbie. "Just wish I could be there to see his face when he opens it."

Braving the cold, they talked for a few minutes more, leaning close together against Jackson's van, their breath steaming wispily in front of them.

"Right! I'm away," said Robbie a few minutes later. "Hopefully Simon has got my tea ready," he laughed.

"So long as he hasn't been led astray again by Aaron," said Jackson.

"Oh god! His liver will never stand it," Robbie scoffed. "See you Saturday then, and you'll stay over at ours?"

"Yeah, we'll bring our toothbrushes; it'll be mad out though, the last weekend before Christmas."

"Don't worry, I'll look after you," laughed Robbie, getting back into his van. "See you then!"

Quickly Jackson climbed into his seat, glad he had left the engine running; the heat was welcome even after so few minutes standing out in the cold evening air. Slowly he followed Robbie's van from the car park, flashing his lights as he turned in the opposite direction, as he took the road home, the road back to Aaron. Maybe they'd go to bed and watch a DVD, he thought. Or maybe they'd just go to bed; he smiled.

….

It was very late, almost so late as to be early, as the car drove slowly back into the village. He couldn't help but glance at the windows of Smithy Cottage as he drove past but they were in darkness. He allowed himself a small smile of relief; whatever happened now, he felt better than he had for days; better than he had since Gordon Livesy had been shouting his mouth off, shattering his world, in the Woolpack.

Drawing to a halt outside Tug Ghyll, he was whistling softly to himself as he entered the house.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

"Oh that was ace!" laughed Jackson as they walked slowly out of the football ground, cocooned in a throng of bodies all headed in the same direction.

"What?" questioned Robbie, "the game or Simon's commentary?"

"Both!" replied Jackson. "Although I think you were only guessing which player had the biggest nipples with the cold; you couldn't possibly see."

"I have 20/20 vision," said Simon, putting on his campest voice and mannerisms.

"And I don't think the woman in front liked the way you kept going on about their tight arses," added Aaron.

"When I'm out in the country, I admire the view," smirked Simon.

"You are such a fucking wind-up merchant," Robbie exclaimed putting one arm around his boyfriend's neck and pulling him towards him.

"It's what you love most about me!" Simon replied teasingly.

"Sure about that, are you?" shot back Robbie, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Yep," said Simon confidently, "along with my magic sense of humour, my hot body and the way I can fuck you all night long!"

"You sure you two are up for going out tonight," said Jackson. "I mean, Aaron and I can go ourselves if you want to..."

"He'll enjoy it all the more for having to wait," interrupted Robbie.

The banter continued as they made their way back to the car park, as they crept out of the car park in a slow line of traffic, the early winter darkness already falling. Aaron and Jackson sat in the back seat, enjoying the novelty, enjoying letting their fingers touch, twist, entwine, with each other under cover of that darkness as Robbie and Simon bickered playfully in the front seats.

The flat was welcoming; warm and cosy after the cold afternoon. The small spare room already held Aaron and Jackson's overnight things; bulging carrier bags spewing their contents over the bed.

"I'll stick the kettle on; tea won't be long but you've time to grab a shower if you want," called Robbie as he started pulling pots from the cupboard, gathering the ingredients he needed. "There's plenty of hot water and I left towels on the bed," he added.

In the bedroom, Jackson raised his eyebrows at Aaron; a question; an invitation.

"We can't," mouthed Aaron, his eyes suddenly bright with excitement. "What will they think?"

"You don't mind if we go in together, do you," called Jackson brazenly, moving to lean out of the door, his voice carrying towards the kitchen.

"Nah, go for it," answered Robbie.

"But remember the walls are thin and we will hear everything," added Simon; his comment punctuated by a sudden slap and his exclamation of surprise dissolving into giggles.

Ducking back into the bedroom, Jackson turned to see Aaron already peeling off his hoodie and tee shirt in one movement. Dropping his trackkies, he kept only his boxers on; waiting until Jackson caught up with him. They grabbed towels and the fragrant shower gel favoured by Jackson, then sprinted across the hall to the bathroom, flinging the door shut behind them; locking it.

The shower cubical was small; barely enough room for them to move without hitting bum or elbow off the screens, but the water was hot, plentiful, pouring down on them, cascading over them, enveloping them in steam.

"Do not even think of touching me," warned Jackson, squirming away as Aaron moved, trying to get more of the water splashing over him. "There's no room and I really don't want to give Robbie and Simon something to listen to; we'd never hear the end of it!"

"I can be quiet," whispered Aaron, letting his hands begin to slide over Jackson's smooth, wet body.

"Only if your mouth is full," groaned Jackson. "Oh stop! There's not enough room, Aaron."

"There's enough room for me to do this though," murmured Aaron, pushing his body hard against Jackson, finding his lips as his hand trailed lower.

Moving a little, he slid his leg behind Jackson, letting one hand pull him closer as he pushed his groin hard against Jackson's hip, relishing the pressure on his rigid cock.

He bent his head, his teeth grazing at Jackson's neck while the fingers of his other hand played with his swollen nipples, feeling them harden under his teasing, pinching fingers.

Moving his hand lower again, he drew his fingers - oh so lightly - along the length of Jackson's cock, feeling his excitement, his anticipation growing with each gentle stroke.

Pushing, forcing his cock harder into Aaron's hand, Jackson needed him to take him, needed the movements that would lead him, bring him higher, to the brink of excitement, tip him over the edge.

Aaron tightened his grip, increased the speed of his movements, watched the play of emotions across Jackson's face, watched him coming closer.

Suddenly Jackson moved, twisted, took Aaron's cock in his hand, moved in time with him. Matching stroke for stroke, their bodies melded together; harder, faster, urgency infusing every movement; need clenching their guts, overwhelming them until almost in unison they came, their juices mingling over their hands; the hot water cascading over them, diluting it over their bodies.

Jackson leaned against the tiles, breathing heavily.

"I told you not to touch me," he gasped.

"But I was quiet, wasn't I," replied Aaron, equally breathless.

"About the only time you ever have been," smiled Jackson, letting his eyes flick over Aaron's naked body, admiring the water beading on his skin. "Pass the shower gel," he added.

Jackson poured a generous measure of the luminescent blue gel onto his palm. Saying nothing, he pushed gently at Aaron's shoulder; nodded, indicated that he should turn around. Gently he began to smooth the thick liquid over Aaron's back, his hands lightly traced a swirling a path across his skin.

Jackson's touch set his skin on fire, a heat that coursed through his veins; a heat that had nothing to do with the water still pounding down upon them; Aaron arched his back, gave himself up to the sensations flooding his body.

Caressing the rounded swell of his buttocks, pausing for a moment, enjoying the feeling of fullness in his hands, Jackson then knelt, trailing his hands down Aaron's legs, all the while smoothing the cleansing gel into his skin, watching the tiny bubbles grow and burst.

At last, reluctantly, they left the warmth of the shower; quickly towelling themselves dry then sprinting across the hall to tumble together, laughing, into their room.

There were cans of lager waiting for them when they went back into the living room a few minutes later; noises of pans and plates clattering and good smells coming from the kitchen. In a very short time, Robbie placed plates of pasta piled high with roasted vegetables in front of them.

"Simon's choice," he said. "Reckons he's not going to be caught with a hangover like the last time we were out with you."

"I was ill for a week," added Simon, coming into the room with cutlery for them all.

"Don't exaggerate!" exclaimed Robbie; "you threw up once and were fine by the lunchtime."

The pasta was good, filling; the early evening passed easilyand it was after nine before they left the flat, heading to Bar West.

Hotton was busy; the streets full of happy pub and party goers enjoying the last weekend before Christmas. Music from the bars spilled out into the streets; the latest downloads mixed with Christmas classics, enhancing the atmosphere.

Bar West was packed as they pushed their way through the press of bodies, even just to get in the door. An area had been set aside near the door for jackets, tumbling their own amongst the piles already there; they began to weave their way towards the bar.

"Upstairs is open," shouted Robbie into Jackson's ear as they stood waiting to be served. "It'll be all the old cheesy Christmas stuff; Simon will be up there like a shot!"

"We'll maybe come up in a bit," replied Jackson, "once Aaron's got a pint or two in him; you know he's not exactly Mr Disco!"

"No!" laughed Robbie, "but he's looking hot tonight, you're a lucky git!"

"I am!" agreed Jackson, glancing behind him, spotting Aaron half hidden by the crowds, talking to Simon, seeing them laughing together. He had to agree with Robbie, Aaron did look particularly hot tonight; the black vest he was wearing showing off his muscular arms to perfection. Jackson smiled to himself; memories of Aaron's touch on his skin so fresh in his mind he could almost feel the thrill of his fingers across his body now.

After they got their drinks, they drifted apart; Simon, lured by the promise of every Christmas hit of the past three decades being played in the upstairs disco, dragged Robbie behind him, knowing his boyfriend would indulge his delight.

Aaron and Jackson stayed in the main bar amid the noise and crush of bodies tight in upon each other; they stood close, shouting into each other's ears to be heard, nodding briefly to acquaintances in passing; watching, enjoying the atmosphere.

"Come upstairs and dance with me," asked Jackson hopefully a while later. He knew Aaron wouldn't; but that wasn't going to stop him asking; wasn't going to stop him making his dark eyes as wide and pleading as possible; letting the tiniest pout touch his lips.

"You know I can't dance," protested Aaron.

"No one will be looking at your dancing," chuckled Jackson.

"Well I'm definitely not going upstairs then!" replied Aaron.

"In time for the last dance then?" asked Jackson. "You did the last time we were here."

"Don't remind me," laughed Aaron, "must've looked a right muppet! I'm going for a pee" He leant forward, brushed Jackson's lips with his own, letting his hand slide down the length of Jackson's body as he moved away.

Jackson watched him disappear through the crowded bar. He pulled out his phone, meaning to check for messages, meaning to do something to pass the time until Aaron returned but had hardly clicked through the menu when a tap on the shoulder surprised him.

Turning he found a familiar face; a chap he had been at college with when he did his day release course, years ago. Chatting with him, shouting into his ear, it was good to catch up and they had talked for some time before he realised that Aaron hadn't returned.

He began to ease his way through the crowds, elbowing people aside while scanning the crowd for that familiar face. The loos were away from the main bar area and as always, thick with bodies gathered, entwined, exploring each other in the darkest corner of the bar. He pushed open the door to the loos.

At first he thought he was kissing him; at first, for a split second, the sickening thought flashed through his mind that his body was pressed close to Aaron's by invitation; it wasn't until he stepped further into the room that he saw the thick arm resting across Aaron's neck; that he saw the heavy body pinning one of Aaron's hands underneath him; that he saw Aaron's other had pushing hard against the solid chest, his face a scowling mask of anger that he knew, utterly and irrevocably, that Aaron wasn't a willing participant.

Aaron hadn't been aware of him at first; he had met Robbie leaving as he was going in; they had chatted for a minute or two; longer. He had been thinking of nothing, nothing except maybe getting back to Jackson as quickly as possible. At first – for half a heartbeat - he had thought the presence behind him was Jackson, but quickly, even amongst the smell of stale urine and over-indulgence in after-shave and alcohol, he knew it wasn't Jackson close behind him after all. Close behind him; too close; the hand that reached out, touched him, demanded his attention, pulled him round was large and unfamiliar, intruding on him. Pushing him unexpectedly back against the wall, his arm hard against his neck, keeping him still as that intrusive hand ran down his body, quickly moving to his groin.

How could nobody care what was happening? How could nobody see what was happening; see that heavy arm imprisoning him, beginning to cut off his air supply. How could nobody see that hand groping him, invading him, disregarding the snarling gasps of dissent, the small noise that was all that could escape his throat as he tried to protest that he did not want this encounter.

The heavy body leant harder into him, the insistent, exploring hand was reaching its target now, fingering aside the material, seeking his skin, his flaccid, frightened cock.

He had to do something; he couldn't just stand here, letting that hand touch him, letting that body crush against him; becoming a victim again. Gasping a much need breath, summoning his strength, his anger, he bent his knee as much as he could, then raised it sharply; knowing even as he did so that the bite it made into his assailant's balls wouldn't be enough.

"Aaron!"

The sharp voice, the controlled anguish reached him even as his assailant's grip upon him lessened under a sudden assault; as the large body pressing down on him was pulled away by the smaller, but ferociously angry man.

Feeling the pressure lessening on his throat, the weight lifting from his body, he gasped for breath, summoning his strength, pushed! even as Jackson hauled the bigger man from behind.

Snarling almost incomprehensibly at being denied his pleasure, the former assailant shambled unsteadily away.

Aaron leant forward, resting his hands on his legs, catching his breath.

"You okay?" asked Jackson, unconsciously rubbing his hand across Aaron's back.

"Yeah. Shit. Sorry," said Aaron, straightening up.

"You were away ages," said Jackson. "Had it been going on that long? How had no one…"

"No! it was just seconds," interrupted Aaron. "I'd been speaking to Robbie, he was leaving. I'd just pee'd and suddenly he was behind me. It was only seconds."

"Sick bastard!" muttered Jackson. "Did he actually…..actually get you?"

"I don't know, I don't think so," Aaron shook his head as he spoke. "He got close but I don't think he got through my boxers. Look can we just get out of here?"

They had been leaning against the walls of the loos, ignoring the men coming and going, together and singly.

"Yeah, we'll find Robbie and Simon and tell them we're just heading," said Jackson. "I'm sure they'll give us the keys to the flat. You sure you're okay? D'you want to report it?"

"No! I'm fine, it's nothing like…like before," said Aaron, trying to reassure Jackson, knowing that he would understand. "I just want to forget about it and get out of here."

It took them a few minutes searching, easing their way through the packed bodies on the dance floor of the upstairs disco before they found them dancing together. It was hard to explain that they were going, that they needed the keys to the flat; following them out of the disco, to the slightly quieter staircase, Jackson explained.

"Something went down in the loos, a bit of unpleasantness; we're ok, but just need to go; head back to the flat, if you don't mind."

Looking between them, it was hard to fully follow what Jackson was saying amid the noise, the passing bodies allowing them no privacy. Not understanding at first; Robbie spoke and struggled to hear the replies, Simon noticed Aaron was quiet, not meeting their eyes.

A knot of dread began to form in the cold pit of his stomach; he needed to know what had happened. More by actions than words, he indicated that they should move; that they should go downstairs. Urgently now he hustled them towards the door and it was only when they were outside in the relative peace of the street that Robbie and Simon learned what had happened.

"I'm sorry," said Aaron after Jackson had told them everything; almost everything. "I'm just not in the mood for a night out now."

"But you're okay?" checked Robbie for the fifth time in as many minutes.

"I'm fine," reassured Aaron. "It was just a brief, nasty moment that I want to go home and forget about."

"We'll all go," said Simon decisively. "I couldn't enjoy myself now anyway. I'll go back and grab our coats."

The walk back through the streets to the flat was a quiet one; Robbie and Jackson tried to make conversation, but aware of Aaron, quietly walking beside them, hunched up, his hands stuffed in his pockets against the cold; it felt awkward and their words gradually died inside them.

It was a relief to reach the flat; to stand at the door as Robbie fumbled with the lock; to hear the door shut firmly behind them, to know that he was safe again. Aaron drew a deep breath; even in the subdued light of the lamps Robbie had left on against their return, it was lighter here than it had been in the bar or walking home. He couldn't let Jackson, let any of them, see how rattled he really was by the brief attack.

"D'you mind if I jump in the shower again," Aaron asked Simon. "I just feel kind of grubby after…"

"No, on you go," answered Simon quickly.

Aaron went into their room, glad for the moment that he was alone, that Jackson had gone straight into the living room. He peeled off his jeans, throwing them in a heap on the floor; slowly he slid his boxers down, over his hips until they dropped to the floor and he could step out of them. He knew he had to look; let his eyes drop, see if there was any sign, any discolouring swathes of purple bruises marking his skin. He knew, rationally, logically, that it was nothing like what had happened before; the vicious blows that had rained down upon his body. This was a touch; a grope that maybe hadn't even seared his skin; already he couldn't be sure exactly how close that intruding hand had reached.

Steeling his nerves, biting his bottom lip, he looked….and breathed again.

In the shower, for a moment, for the briefest second, he almost couldn't put his own hands down to himself; it was an effort, forcing his hands downwards, touching himself, letting the foaming liquid, the heady fragrance wash away the memory on his body of that unwelcome touch. For once he relished Jackson's taste in gel, so far removed from the dirty masculine smell of his assailant.

He stood for a long time, letting the hot water wash over him, cleansing his body as his mind tried to make sense of it and let it go. He couldn't let such a brief moment colour his life black. He stood, letting the hot water cleanse his body and mind.

Drying himself hurriedly, he slipped back to the bedroom; he didn't really want to face the conversation, the questions, in the living room. Naked, he slid under the covers and lay with only the light coming from the hall through the open door easing the darkness of the room.

"You okay kid?" Simon stood in the doorway.

"Yeah; just felling a bit like I over reacted and spoiled everyone's night," said Aaron.

"Don't be daft," said Simon, moving further into the room towards the bed. "Feet," he said, bending as Aaron moved his legs, giving Simon room to sit as he lifted the covers, slid underneath them and lent against the wall.

"I didn't do anything," said Aaron urgently. "I didn't lead him on at all; I didn't want it; didn't want him!"

"We all know that," said Simon quickly, seeking to reassure him. "It probably could have been anyone; you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Don't let it mess with your head; there was no real harm done...was there?" he added as Aaron said nothing.

"No...no," said Aaron quickly. "I can't even be sure now what he actually did; it was all so quick."

"But he touched you?" questioned Simon, needing to understand.

"He had his hand there, was trying to get into my jeans," said Aaron quietly. "But I don't know whether he got in my boxers...got me"

"But he's got into your head, hasn't he?" It was a statement rather than a question. "Don't let him; after everything that's happened, don't let one drunken arse wreck things.

For a moment they were silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

"C'mon you," said Simon, pushing Aaron's legs with his hand. "Get out of that bed and come through."

"Erm…I've got nothing on," admitted Aaron.

"Oh! So you got something down there that I haven't?" teased Simon.

"You show me yours and I'll show you mine," countered Aaron, a watery smile touching the corners of his lips.

Simon laughed, glad to hear his attempt at humour; glad to hear him sounding more like himself. "D'you want me to stick those through the wash for you?" he asked, nodding at the discarded pile of clothes on the floor.

"D'you mind?" asked Aaron in reply.

"Wouldn't have offered if I did, would I?" scoffed Simon. "D'you need anything to put on just now?"

"No, I'll just stick my trackkies back on," said Aaron.

"Good," Simon looked at him and gave the tiniest of nods, more to himself than Aaron. "Robbie's making toasted cheese," he said, "ultimate comfort food."

"I'd better move then," replied Aaron, "before Jackson eats it all." He lay, watching as Simon quickly scooped up the discarded, soiled clothes and took them from his sight, although not yet from his mind.

Aaron made his way through to the living room a few minutes later; clothed in the tee shirt and trackkies he had worn earlier in the day, he slumped down on the sofa as near to Jackson as he could. There were tins of lager, mountains of toasted cheese and gossip to take his mind off that evening. All worked their magic, let his deal with it, put it into its insignificant place and by the time they all decided to call it a night, he truly felt it was over. Almost.

In the darkness; in the single bed lying close to Jackson, naked again, he whispered to him.

"Will you touch me Jay," he asked quietly, shyly. "I want to feel your hands on me."

In the darkness Jackson rolled over and kissed him.

In the darkness, they made gentle love.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Aaron half opened his eyes; it was still dark. Although that didn't necessarily mean it was early, it was probably still too early to get up; he wasn't a kid any more after all. Without looking at the LED light of the clock, he closed his eyes again; turning from one side to the other, he tried to get back to sleep, he really tried to get back to sleep, but the knot of excitement blossoming in his stomach wouldn't let him.

Tentatively he stretched out a hand, reaching for Jackson; his fingers inching towards contact with his bare arm...chest.

"I'm asleep, I've got a headache and my arse is sore," muttered Jackson as Aaron's fingers slid gently over his skin. "Happy Christmas though."

"And you," smiled Aaron. "AndI wasn't suggesting anything," he continued in an aggrieved tone, "well not really."

"Good," said Jackson. "I think my insides are still all rearranged from last night." He paused. "It was good though." He slid round until he was nestled into Aaron's arms. "It feels like you are still inside me."

"Why've you got a headache?" asked Aaron, rubbing slow circles around Jackson's temple.

"That'll be the shots we were drinking with Adam at the Woollie last night," half groaned Jackson. "And how come you haven't got a hangover anyway?"

"Dunno," Aaron moved a little, began to run one finger lightly around the rim of Jackson's ear.

"Coffee would be good," murmured Jackson. "And paracetamol."

Leaning into him, Aaron kissed him quickly then slid from the bed. Bending, he rummaged amongst the tumble of discarded clothes, hunting for his trackkies.

"Nice view," mumbled Jackson.

"Thought you were asleep and not interested?" said Aaron.

"Get me that coffee and paracetamol and maybe I'll be ready to start celebrating Christmas!"

Glancing for the last time towards the bed, Aaron softly opened the bedroom door. He thought he would be the first one downstairs, but the tantalising smell of frying bacon drifted up the stairs to greet him as soon as he stepped through the doorway.

Downstairs Hazel was buzzing about the kitchen, the radio providing a seasonal background to her industry. Two frying pans stood full on the cooker, rolls piled, already buttered, on the worktop.

"And what time did you two stagger home last night?" she asked abruptly.

"Midnight. Just after," said Aaron, lifting the kettle.

"Twenty past one," said Hazel firmly, taking the kettle from him, waving to him to sit down at the table. "And how noisy were you?" she continued.

"I thought we were quite quiet," protested Aaron.

"So it wasn't the pair of you singing a very suspect version of Frosty the Snowman all the way up the stairs then." Hazel plonked a mug of coffee on the table in front of him.

"Jackson wants..." he began, ignoring her question. Her statement.

"In a minute," Hazel interrupted him. "And move that bed away from the wall a bit, eh? Here." She pushed a plate with a roll, bursting with bacon, towards him.

"But Jackson..."

"Oh let him sleep a bit longer," scoffed Hazel.

"But..."

"Eat!" Daring him to defy her, she glared at him, a glare that she could hold for mere seconds before her face softened, dissolved into a smile, a grin. "Ooh happy Christmas, Aaron!" She ruffled the top of his head as she passed behind him, back towards the cooker.

He ducked away from her hand, but not far; all his concentration on his bacon roll. He was surprised to find himself so hungry; he hadn't been when he woke up.

"What time are we going up to Zak and Lisa's," he asked as he ate.

"We're not," said Hazel, "didn't you know?"

Aaron looked at her, puzzled. They always went to Zak and Lisa's for Christmas dinner, Belle's birthday. It was a ritual; tedious, expected, there was always plenty of cans to dull the boredom. But this year it should have been different; this year there was Jackson. And Hazel.

"Oh I'd have thought your mum would have told you," Hazel rattled on as she added bacon to rolls; re-boiled the kettle. "Marlon is doing the dinner today; everyone is going there. We've to go to Zak and Lisa's tomorrow; they got some special Dingle guests or something coming then."

Aaron pulled a face; he didn't really care, so long as he was with Jackson, and there were cans of lager and plenty of food.

"I thought I could smell bacon," said Paddy, coming into the kitchen. "You two were late enough back last night," he said to Aaron.

"Yeah," Aaron agreed, "Hazel's already said."

"And that song," Paddy chuckled, "Frosty the fuc..."

"Er, yeah, Hazel's already said," Aaron agreed again, interrupting him before he got carried away and began singing. "Look, Jackson wanted..."

"Here you are," Hazel interrupted him. "Two rolls for him, another for you, and coffee."

"And paracetamol," said Aaron.

"And paracetamol," echoed Hazel, turning, reaching into a cupboard and adding the small box to the tray.

"We'll do presents when you get up; before we go to Marlon's," said Paddy, an encouraging smile sweeping across his face.

"Yeah," said Aaron, looking from one expectant, hopeful face to the other. "Yeah, we will!"

He was smiling as he carried the laden tray back to their bedroom.

...

In Tug Ghyll, Cain lay on his bed; he could hear the noise from downstairs already, Sarah desperate to open her presents, Debbie urging her to wait. There were other voices too; he could hear the shrill, excited tones of Noah; that meant Charity was there. It didn't matter; he wasn't going to fight with her, not today; he had other things to think about; other presents to hope for; to spend his Christmas wishes on.

He twisted the small parcel in his fingers; he had already opened it, peeked in between the layers of packaging, carefully drawn out the instructions and read them before gently sliding them back inside. It had arrived in the last post before Christmas; it felt like an omen; it felt like fate was being kind to him; it felt good to have it in his hands at last; one step nearer to knowing; never mind that Aaron hadn't agreed yet, that he hadn't even spoken to Aaron yet; that didn't matter. He was going to, very soon; he was gathering his courage; he would speak to him. He would tell him. Everything.

He tucked the parcel under his pillow; today he couldn't think about it. Today had to be for his family, his daughter, his granddaughter, his father, all of them. But today could be for his nephew too.

Already dressed; the bathroom had been unusually empty; he stood, took a deep breath and prepared to face the day.

...

"Hello-o," Chas's shrill voice preceded her head peeking around the door into Smithy. "Happy Christmas everybody! Oh! Where is everybody?"

"Hazel's in the bathroom and the boys aren't up yet. Bacon roll?" Paddy pushed the plate towards her; four or five rolls still on it.

"Aw, Aaron always used to be up early on Christmas day when he was a kid," Chas said, dropping the bag she had been carrying before pulling out a chair, sitting next to Paddy and helping herself to a roll.

"He's been down," said Paddy. "I think they are a bit hung over; they were at the Woollie with Adam until late."

"O-oh?" questioned Chas. Maybe I should go up, say happy Christmas, hurry them up," she half moved from her chair.

"No Chas! Just leave them! Have a coffee, and if they are not down in half an hour I'll give them a shout." Paddy caught at her sleeve, stopping her, giving her a look, a warning.

"Oh. Yes. Right," she said, grasping his meaning at last, glad that he moved to busy himself making fresh coffee and didn't see the flush of colour crossing her face.

…

Jackson stretched, arching his back into Aaron's slowing, caressing fingers; letting his body calm down after the feelings, the emotions, that had raged through him engendered by his lover's touch.

"That was so good," he murmured.

"I know," said Aaron quietly smug. "I was watching. How's your hangover now?"

"What hangover?" smiled Jackson, "that's the best hangover cure I know." He turned, looked up into Aaron's blue eyes. "I suppose we should get up – stop it!" he added as Aaron raised one eyebrow. "It's Christmas Day and we're lucky mum hasn't been at the door already! Besides, I want you to open my present."

"Now?" Aaron quickly sat upright, twisting himself cross-legged on the bed and looked hopefully at Jackson.

"Downstairs," said Jackson firmly as he pushed himself upright in the bed. "Can I get away without a shower?"

"No," smirked Aaron, "I'm just too generous! But I'm going to get in before you!" He was out of the bed before Jackson moved any further; stopping only to glance out of the door before he sped, still naked, across the hall into the bathroom. He waited, but for once Jackson didn't follow him.

Twenty minutes later, he was ready to go downstairs; yet he hesitated. Coming back from the bathroom, he had heard the loud laughter of his mother; he knew she would be coming over; knew he wouldn't be able to avoid her but that didn't mean he relished seeing her; Christmas or not.

He was ready to go downstairs, yet still he hesitated; waiting for Jackson. He knew Paddy and Hazel would be there too but it had been difficult with his mum; with Chas, recently; he needed to wait for Jackson.

"My goodness," exclaimed Hazel, as they finally emerged into the living room. "I thought you two were never coming downstairs. We've to be at Marlon's for twelve"

"But that's Marlon time," said Paddy apologetically, "we can be late; it'll be fine; he'll be fine." Anxiously he looked from one to another, from Hazel, to Jackson and Aaron, to Chas, searching for agreement.

"Yes!" Chas chimed in brightly. "Presents! We need to open presents!" She nodded in the general direction of the bag she had brought in; of the ones already gathered under the small artificial tree in the corner. "C'mon Aaron! Start passing them round." She sat dropped heavily onto the sofa, waiting.

"How many have you had?" growled Aaron ungraciously.

"Hazel and I have had a couple of small," she emphasised the word, "sherries. It's Christmas and we weren't all out drinking until the early hours."

"I'll do it," said Jackson, grinning at Aaron. "Here Mr Grumpy, first one's yours!"

It wasn't long before the living room was awash with a bright sea of tumbled, torn wrapping paper; a surprising amount of paper for five adults to leave behind them.

It wasn't long before every present was opened, save the last two.

Jackson held a large, rather flattish parcel in his hand; he could see the excess of tape shining in the reflected electric light; it made him smile inside. Seeing Aaron watching him, obviously waiting, he began struggling with the tape, trying to rip it clear of the paper.

Stubbornly, the paper refused to yield at first, but as it finally began to give way, to expose the inside of the present, his eyes widened in delight. Ripping into it at last, pulling the final shreds of paper away, Jackson saw the contents before anyone else. His dark eyes widened in delight as he leaned towards Aaron, pulled him for a fierce hug.

"Thank you!" he whispered.

"What is it then? Show us?" said Chas peering forward, trying to see what Jackson was holding; what Aaron had bought him.

"Paints?" she asked, puzzled; questions clear in her tone as Jackson pulled the last of the wrapping clear

"Not just any paints," breathed Jackson, "just the best oils and acrylics you can get! How did you know?"

"Well you kept saying you wanted to do more painting," said Aaron, a pleased smile on his face. "Now you've no excuse."

"Yeah, but these paints," continued Jackson.

"I took advice," admitted Aaron, his glance flicking quickly towards Hazel.

Jackson though, was quick enough to catch that glance, but as he drew breath to speak, Hazel interrupted him.

"I only told him what shop to go to, who to talk to there," she admitted, "he chose what to buy himself."

"And they're brilliant; just brilliant," said Jackson, "can't wait to use them." His dark eyes glinted as he looked at Aaron; already imagining the pictures he would paint of his favourite subject. "Go on and open mine now," he urged, tired now of waiting.

Aaron picked up the small square parcel; he squeezed it, it was soft, springing back as he released the pressure of his fingers. Almost hungrily now, he ripped at the paper.

Socks! A multi pack of plain black socks, only relieved by gaudily coloured toes and heels, tumbled into his lap.

"What the fu..." began Aaron. Socks! He didn't know what he had expected; but after everything, after the last few months, surely he rated more than socks. He could feel a hot, stinging sensation threatening his eyes; he blinked, bit his lip and preparing to paste a smile on his face, he caught Jackson's eyes.

Jackson's eyes sparkling with anticipation; with mischief, saying nothing but only waiting.

There must be more, realised Aaron; this was only a diversion, a disguise. Still watching Jackson, he began to finger the socks, to feel them more carefully until he felt something; something thin but firmer than only socks should be. Looking now, he pulled out an envelope; the white sheen of the paper devoid of writing, devoid of anything to tell him what was inside.

Sliding his finger into the upper edge of the seal, he eased open the envelope; he could feel his heart pounding in anticipation, yet he went slowly, almost dreading what he would find. He slid out a single sheet of thick paper; he looked.

"No way!" he exclaimed. "No way! How on earth did you get this!"

Jackson looked smug now, pleased with himself.

"Well tell us," urged Paddy, giving voice to the curiosity that beset them all.

"He's only got me a weekend off road driving in the Lakes; but it's everything from four-wheel drive Landies to monster trucks to vintage. How the hell did you get this, Jackson?"

"Ways and means," smirked Jackson, a huge grin in his face.

"But it must have cost a fortune," persisted Aaron.

"It's a present! Stop asking questions! Do you like it?"

"Like it! I love it! And look where we're staying overnight!" Aaron waved the paper towards Jackson.

"He knows! He booked it! Let us see!" exclaimed Chas, reaching for the paper. Almost snatching it from Aaron's hand, she looked at it, gave a whistle of surprised and handed it to Hazel.

"Very nice," nodded Hazel approvingly, before passing it to Paddy. "Well I think we've all done very well." She surveyed the mass of discarded paper, the piles of gifts by each of them. "But we should think about going to Marlon's – no arguments!" she added as she saw Aaron move as though to open his mouth, to protest.

"He'll have been busy all morning, cooking," said Paddy cajolingly. "He's expecting everybody; just be nice, it's one day. We'll take extra cans. Nobody is going to say anything," he added, looking at Aaron.

"No. It's okay; it's just," began Aaron. He paused; he couldn't explain; he hardly knew himself how he felt; he just didn't want Cain to start again; not ever, not when everyone was there; when Zak could side with his son; when Lisa could try to persuade him in her most reasonable way, that he needed to know, that he would regret not knowing. But it was Christmas Day; there was only twelve hours or so to survive, to endure.

"Right, c'mon then; let's head!" he said, suddenly firm and resolute; keen to get the rest of the day begun; keen to get it over with. On the table in the kitchen, bags, cardboard covered boxes of cans, stood already ready to go. Picking up a carrier bag, tucking a box of cans under his arm, he waited as everyone else caught up with him.

Closing the door behind them as they left; they left the debris of Christmas at Smithy behind them and headed for Tall Trees, for a Dingle Christmas; a Dingle birthday celebration.

...

"I really thought Cain would have had more to say," said Aaron, hours later. He was sprawled on the sofa at Smithy, Jackson lying between his legs. On the floor beside them a large bowl of sweeties; without looking, Aaron reached down into the bowl, picked one and unwrapped it. He took a bite; wrinkling his nose in distaste as the flavour touched his tongue, looking at the orange goo oozing from the chocolate casing, he pushed the remaining half sweetie into Jackson's mouth.

"He seemed to have plenty to say to me," mumbled Jackson, his mouth full.

"Yeah, but that's just it," said Aaron, picking another sweetie. "He was his usual grumpy self; he didn't say anything about...y'know. Maybe he's finally got the message, I'm not interested"

"Yeah, maybe," agreed Jackson. "Could I get my own sweetie!" he added, "not just the remains of the ones you don't like!"

"Oh yeah! Sorry!" Aaron scooped a handful of sweeties from the bowl and dropped them onto Jackson's chest. "Oh I'm stuffed!" he exclaimed.

"Not surprised," said Jackson. "That was a massive spread Marlon put on and you seemed to be eating every time I saw you."

"Need to keep my strength up," grinned Aaron.

"And we get to do it all again tomorrow at Zak and Lisa's," said Jackson.

"Yeah, I wonder what Desperate Dingle has crawled out of the woodwork this time," said Aaron gently sarcastic. "Don't supposed they would notice if we weren't there; shall we give it miss, just do something ourselves." He twisted his fingers through the short curls on Jackson's head absentmindedly as he spoke.

"Could do," murmured Jackson, sliding lower, more comfortably, between Aaron's legs. "Where d'you fancy?"

"Dunno," shrugged Aaron, "Leeds; just a run out somewhere. Borrow the Megane off Cain again. Take a picnic."

"In December? It's freezing!" exclaimed Jackson.

"Bet we could find some way of keeping warm," teased Aaron. "Maybe we should take the van instead."

"Except the van is full of work stuff; junk," said Jackson. Twisting, he looked up at Aaron, his dark eyes huge and inviting. "Can you be bothered with this?" He nodded towards the television; to the late Christmas night clever comedy that neither of them were really finding funny, were really watching.

"Nah, d'you want something else on?" asked Aaron.

"I'd rather have everything off and you underneath me," said Jackson.

"That could be arranged," replied Aaron, "but you'll have to catch me first." Suddenly he lunged! Twisted! Threw himself from the sofa. Scrambling up almost before he had hit the floor, he arched his body away from Jackson's grasping hands and dashed from the room.

Hurtling up the stairs, Jackson inches behind him, Aaron threw himself through their bedroom door; gasping for breath as he landed on the bed, as Jackson launched himself, as he landed on top of him, pinning his eager, willing body to the bed as his mouth captured his lips.

As the door slammed closed behind them.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

"Were you serious about going for a picnic? Pass me a pair of socks." Jackson was sitting on the edge of the bed; he pulled a tee shirt over his head as he spoke. "A pair of those will do."

"Yeah, why not? Those are my new ones," protested Aaron, pulling the socks protectively towards him.

"Just checking," replied Jackson. "You might have changed your mind about going to Zak and Lisa's. And that's my boxers you've got on by the way."

"You want them back," Aaron hooked his thumbs over the waist band.

"Later, or we'll never get out," grinned Jackson. "Where d'you want to go?"

"Dunno," said Aaron, quickly finishing dressing. "Get the car and just head for a couple of hours."

"Best way," smiled Jackson; remembering.

It didn't take them long to raid the fridge, the cupboards; squirreling away their supplies in carrier bags; taking enough treats to last more than a couple of hours.

Hazel hadn't arrived downstairs by the time they were ready to leave; Aaron stuck his head round the surgery door. Paddy was at the computer, a pile of notes, invoices, bills beside him, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"That's us away," said Aaron cheerfully, backing away from the door quickly; keen to give him no chance to challenge them.

"Are you sure about it," he called to Aaron's disappearing figure; halting him.

"They'll be plenty folk about," shrugged Aaron, "they'll hardly notice us not there."

"You could always come over later," suggested Paddy.

"Yeah, to rescue you and Hazel when you are both legless," laughed Aaron, "heave you into the car and get you home safe!"

"Well you know it's hard to refuse Zak when he is being hospitable."

"Yeah," laughed Aaron. "See you later." He made his escape, returning quickly to the kitchen before Paddy could think of any further reason to detain him.

Minutes later they left Smithy, heading down the main street; still quiet although it wasn't early; most of the village seemed to be hibernating after Christmas Day.

At Tug Ghyll, Debbie sleepily answered the door; still in her pyjamas.

"Make more noise couldn't you," she grumbled, pulling the door wide. "What d'you want?"

"Keys to the Megane for a few hours," said Aaron as they followed her into the house. "We just want to head off for the day and the van is full of Jackson's work stuff. Cain won't mind, will he; it's not like we've not had it before."

Turning to the hooks bulging with keys beside the door, Debbie searched for the right bunch. "You pair bailing on Granddad's do then?"

"For a bit, yeah," agreed Aaron.

"We might go up later though," said Jackson.

"Just to drag Paddy out," added Aaron. "You know what he's like with a few cans inside him and he won't be able to refuse Zak."

"Yeah," laughed Debbie. "Have a good time guys."

As she closed the door behind them, she heard feet running quickly down the stairs behind her.

"Was that Aaron? What did he want?" demanded Cain, stopping on the last but one step, looking down at her.

"The keys to the Megane," said Debbie, turning back towards the kitchen. "They're going off somewhere for the day."

"What! Where! Why didn't you stop them," demanded Cain, following her.

"They've borrowed the Megane plenty of times before," she said, filling the kettle at the sink, "I didn't think you'd mind."

"Did they say where they were going, how long they'd be?" agitated, Cain paced behind her.

"No,"

"They must've said something! Anything! Think Debbie!" His voice was rising now, getting angry.

"No, not really," replied Debbie casually, reaching for mugs. "D'you want coffee?"

"No I don't;" shouting now, he continued, "what I want is to know where they've gone and when they'll be back!"

"I don't know, Dad! Does it matter?" Angry herself now, she glared at him, waiting for answers.

"Yes it matters!" he raged, hitting the worktop with his fist.

"Dad!" she yelped, surprised, frightened a little at his outburst. "It's not just the car is it?" Breathing deeply, controlling herself, not letting him see the anxiety, the momentary fear of him that was flooding through her. She waited for him to speak.

"They need to go up to Zak and Lisa's," he said; the effort to regain a semblance of calm clear in his voice.

"But why?" asked Debbie, genuinely puzzled. "It will just be the same old, same old Dingle party; too much drink, too many arguments. And goodness knows what Dingle strays and misfits Granddad has dragged up to stay now!"

"They're not Dingles," said Cain quietly, "his visitors. It's Finn and Greg; Aaron's friends."

"Finn the drop-dead-gorgeous-waste-of-a-man minister and his boyfriend!" said Debbie incredulously. "Why?"

"With Sam and Samson away at Alice's parents, the flat is empty; I invited them to stay for a few days.

"Yes, but why?" persisted Debbie.

Cain turned away from her, avoiding her gaze, not answering.

"Dad! Why!"

"Because I need to know if he's my son!" Cain blurted out at last, loudly, angrily. Angry at himself for having to admit this need; angry that he couldn't tell the one person who needed to know.

"But that doesn't mean I love you any the less," he continued quickly, seeing the flash of pain and hurt across her face. "You're my daughter; my beautiful, clever daughter, and I'm so, so glad to have you, and Sarah, in my life. But it's like a cancer, gnawing away at me; I just need to know."

Slowly Debbie nodded. "But I still don't understand why Finn and Greg are here," she said, still puzzled.

"To talk to him," muttered Cain quietly.

"To talk to him?" echoed Debbie. "What about? Just get him to do the test?"

Cain shook his head. "He won't; said he doesn't need to know."

For a moment they were both silent, thinking; almost awkward with each other in the small kitchen of the surprisingly quiet house.

"You haven't told him, have you?" said Debbie at last. "You haven't told him that you need to know."

Cain shook his head. "I was going to; today. With Finn. And Paddy."

At that, Debbie laughed. "Oh Dad! Is he so terrifying?"

"Yes!" admitted Cain, half laughing himself now. "When he glares at me and says he doesn't care.!"

"Like looking in a mirror, is it?" questioned Debbie. "Oh Dad! You don't need a test to know he's your son. Just look at him!" She sighed. "Look. Don't worry. They've just gone off for a few hours, but I'm sure they'll turn up at Granddad and Lisa's sometime today. Or tomorrow. Finn and Greg aren't just here for a day, are they?"

Cain pulled Debbie to him, hugged her. "Why the hell does it feel like you're the grown up here?" he whispered into her hair.

...

"North south east or west," grinned Aaron as they drove out of the village, passing no other cars.

"Erm..."Jackson thought about it for a moment, a second or two, then "West!" he said decisively; "turn here!"

He gave him more instructions; Aaron turned, not bothering to look at the signs as he followed Jackson's directions. It was easy; the light Boxing Day traffic hardly hampering their progress; the music, cheerfully loud, helping them on their way.

They drove easily for twenty minutes, twenty miles, give or take, until suddenly Aaron made a right turn.

"I know where we'll go," he exclaimed. "I was here once before with Paddy; he was covering for the vet here and had a call out. I hadn't taken my test then so he let me drive him for the practice."

He drove for a few minutes more, at crossroads pausing a moment longer than he needed, remembering the way. But it wasn't long before he came to a halt, pulling into a small car park with only two other cars in it.

"Okay, so where are we?" asked Jackson, unfastening his seatbelt.

"If we out of the car park and up the street a bit there's a path through the grounds of some old abbey, by a river. Paddy was going to a farm further up so we could drive up a lane, but he pointed this place out to me. Come on!"

Despite the sunshine, the air that hit them as they opened the doors was bitterly cold. Leaving the car, locking it, Aaron led the way out of the car park, back to the street, glancing right, left, getting his bearings. There was an information board by the track leading from what once had been an impressive stone gateway; Aaron stood in front of it, studying the small map displayed there.

"It's just a couple of miles," said Jackson, his finger tracing the red spots marking the path on the map. "You up for that?"

"Yeah," grinned Aaron, "to the woods with you!"

"In your dreams," laughed Jackson. "It's too cold for any of that malarkey. Save it for next summer!"

"Spoil sport!" countered Aaron. Glancing over his shoulder, quickly checking that the street behind them was as empty as that which stretched in front of them, he caught Jackson's sleeve, pulled him towards him, rapidly brushing his lips against the soft skin of his cheek before leading him towards the open stone gateway.

A track led slightly downhill; lined with widely spaced trees, they could see fields stretching away either side of them; some covered in the lack-lustre grass of winter, some dark with recently ploughed soil.

"It's nice, isn't it?" said Aaron a few minutes later. "Just getting away; somewhere different."

They had been walking in companionable silence; not quite holding hands, but touching; letting their fingers meet, entwine briefly then part.

"You sure you wouldn't rather be at Zak and Lisa's," asked Jackson, half teasing.

"What d'you think!" scoffed Aaron. "Everybody there; we're there but it's like I'm with you but we're not together. I can't just do this when I feel like it." Grabbing Jackson by the hand, Aaron pulled him towards a nearby tree, large enough to shield them from anyone but the closest passer by, should anyone choose to walk that same path.

Pushing his back hard against the trunk of the tree, Aaron braced his hands against the bark either side of Jackson's face. Leaning in, he captured his lips, gently at first, letting the soft hairs around his lips tickle his own; tasting him as he kissed him, as he pushed his tongue between his lips, thrilling a little at Jackson's teasing resistance.

Moving, pressing his body hard against Jackson, Aaron deepened the kiss, feeling Jackson return it; their tongues twisting together, dancing, fighting; their teeth nipping, breathlessness increasing as their excitement grew until at last, panting, they pulled apart.

"You're getting brave, Mr Livesy," smirked Jackson, a satisfied grin on his face.

"I am," agreed Aaron. "Very brave." He moved so that he was leaning against the tree, sideways, allowing him to face Jackson, holding his eyes with his own even as his hand trailed slowly over Jackson's chest; as his fingers caught the zip at the top of his jacket, pulling it slowly – oh so slowly – downwards.

Jackson stared into his eyes; those breath-takingly blue eyes that held him bewitched for the moment. That kiss, like all Aaron's kisses, had been magical; reaching deep into his soul, becoming him. He tried to steady his breathing, steady the pounding in his chest, but the anticipation surging through his veins was working against such control. He was waiting for something to happen; he knew something would happen; he could feel his cock hardening, wanting, needing.

With his zip undone, the front of his jacket fell open; Aaron's hand moved to the top button of his jeans – and paused. He smiled, his tongue flicking suggestively over his lips, then, almost before Jackson realised what had happened, he undid the button and zip in one fluid movement and slipped his fingers under the waistband of Jackson's boxers, grasping the rigid cock that was waiting.

Jackson gasped! Caught his breath! God! Aaron's fingers felt good. Arching his back into the tree, he thrust his hips forward, pushing hard into Aaron's busy hand.

"Not yet," whispered Aaron, pushing his own hips hard against Jackson for a moment, a second or two, enjoying the pressure before he suddenly, unexpectedly dropped to his knees and took Jackson's hard, needy cock into his mouth.

Jackson groaned; he was close – so close, but he needed to make it last, needed the fingers of passion to weave through his body, to fill him, to flood through him so completely, possess him so utterly before he surrendered, exploded in a crescendo of sensations.

Aaron knew he was close, knew the way his cock felt as well as he knew his own, knew his juice was already leaking, making his fingers sticky before he took him in his mouth, tasting him, licking him, swallowing him hungrily.

Quickly, moving together, uniting their rhythm until Jackson, no longer able to savour the sensations, came – hard and urgently – spilling his load into Aaron's mouth until he had no more left to give; until Aaron could swallow no more.

Standing quickly, Aaron clamped his mouth, still full, to Jackson's, forcing a kiss onto his unresisting, welcoming mouth, making him taste himself, even swallow the small amount Aaron swirled into his lovers mouth.

"You now," gasped Jackson, when he could speak again; "turn round." He pulled Aaron towards him, pulled his body hard against his own, letting Aaron's back rest hard against his chest, his stomach. Hugging him; holding him with one hand clamped over the place where his nipple would be were there not several layers of thick clothing between their skin; he moved his other hand to Aaron's groin; glad of his loose topped trackkies.

"Touch me and I'll come," groaned Aaron.

"Maybe I shouldn't touch you then," teased Jackson slackening his grip, lifting his fingers a fraction from Aaron's skin.

"Fuck it! No! I want you to make me come! I wish I was coming inside you, fucking your arse. Hard!" Talking, as he so often did, his last words were lost in a moan, a groan, a rapid release as his body bent forward, as he exploded, erupted, covering Jackson's hand with his juice.

Side by side they leaned against the tree, quickly feeling the cold now; but unable to move as they struggled to regain their breath, their composure, their decency!

"That was mad," laughed Jackson, bending quickly, wiping his hand on the scraggy grass before they walked away from the tree. "Anyone could have seen us."

"But they didn't," answered Aaron smugly. "No one else would be mad enough to be out when it's this cold."

"Yeah, they'll all be having their Boxing Day dinner with their families," Jackson couldn't resist the little dig.

Aaron pulled a face. "Everyone except them and us then!" He nodded over Jackson's shoulder, making him turn, look, see the small group of people walking towards them

Hurriedly theybegan walking; laughing, jostling each other in their delight at so narrowly avoiding being caught; suddenly the afternoon seemed full of spice, adventure.

The car seemed warm, cosy even, after the invigorating cold of the open air. Balancing the bags between them, the picnic; the bounty of their raid on the cupboards and fridge of Smithy tasted wonderful.

Only sitting, only talking, listening to music flitting between CDs, the afternoon passed easily; all too soon the early twilight began to fall. All too soon it was time to head back towards Emmerdale.

"Woollie or Smithy," asked Aaron as the lights of the village came into view.

"Or Wishing Well," added Jackson; his voice neutral, his eyes fixed firmly on the road in front of him.

For a moment he thought Aaron was going to ignore him, was going to stop at Smithy. Just for a moment; then he knew, knew that his suggestion, his gentle hint, his reprimand, had been accepted and the car swung beyond the cottage and through the village in the direction of Wishing Well Cottage.

"Every time," sighed Aaron, "every time you do it to me."

"Nah," smiled Jackson, "you just take a minute or two to reach the same conclusion."

The land around Wishing Well resembled a car park; Paddy's estate car was tucked against the wall, Cain's abandoned next to it. A third car was nearer the house, neatly parked behind Zak's van. Aaron turned the Megane, then parked a little way down the lane; he had come, but he didn't want to be compelled to stay because they were hemmed in, should any other stray Dingles appear.

Coloured lights were festooned around the porch; festive and welcoming. Even as they got out of the car they could hear the sound of Wizard wishing it could be Christmas every day. Pausing a moment, gathering their strength for a Dingle party in full swing; preparing to step over the casualties caught in the cross-fire of the celebrations, Aaron and Jackson walked up the lane as slowly as they could.

At first there just seemed to be a sea of bodies filling the room, sitting near the fire, standing in corners, even dancing. They slid into the room, intending to be as uninvolved as possible; to be seen by Zak, by Lisa, maybe to graze at the spread of food in the kitchen for a few minutes, then to make their escape.

Then Cain saw them.

"Aaron!"

At his exclamation of his name, not loud, but unexpectedly full of the uncertainty, the anguish of the last days, the room seemed suddenly silent. A flook, an illusion, only Aaron's world went silent.

Aaron looked at Cain. Then he saw him. Suddenly Aaron's world went into slow motion. Not fully facing him, yet Aaron couldn't mistake that tumble of blond curls as slowly, so slowly Finn turned towards him.

Finn's eyes reached out to him; gentle, reassuring; a smile touched the corner of his lips.

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Aaron.


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Aaron, his voice was quiet, as chilly as the clearest, coldest ice.

"I invited them," replied Cain; with an attempt at his usual bravado he moved closer to Aaron, into his space. Sheltering Finn.

"And why did you do that?" Aaron almost snarled the question, closing the distance between his face and Cain's.

Cain opened his mouth to speak; but before he could say anything, a gentle touch on his arm stayed any answer he might have found.

"You need to talk," said Finn.

"Oh! So you're siding with him now, are you?" snapped Aaron. "I thought you were my friend."

Around them, the noise of the party continued; they were an island in a sea of noise, of celebration; their words masked by music, by talk, by laughter sharply contrasting now with the swirling anger and resentment raging between them.

"I am your friend Aaron," Finn said calmly. "But I am also a priest; a minister and when I see someone hurting, really hurting: I can't go against my calling and do nothing. You know that." He looked at Aaron, looked deep into his blue eyes, seeing the anger flashing there. He kept his own gaze steady, trying to reach out to him, trying to make him understand; letting him remember the first time they met.

"I am your friend Aaron, don't ever doubt it," he repeated. "But Cain needs to talk to you. You know what it's about. But I've told him," he paused, making sure that he still had Aaron's attention; "told him that it still has to be your choice..."

"And I've made my choice," interrupted Aaron, his voice low and angry. "And I've told you – both of you. So do me a favour; just leave me alone!"

Aaron turned sharply on his heel and pushed his way through the moving, milling bodies, out of the door. It was cold but he didn't notice, leaning heavily on the wooden fence surrounding the pig pen, he breathed deeply, trying to control his anger, his frustration. He had told them! Told them all, more than once; he didn't want to know. He didn't care; one way or the other.

The touch on his arm a few minutes later wasn't unexpected, wasn't unwelcome.

"Sent you out to try to persuade me, did they?" he asked.

"No, I came out right behind you," replied Jackson. "I was sitting on the bench by the door; waiting."

"Waiting?" questioned Aaron, turning, leaning his back against the fence.

"Giving you a minute then," Jackson slid his arms around Aaron's waist; tugging him lightly towards him. He felt his slight resistance, pulled a little harder, a little more persuasively until Aaron leaned away from the security of the fence and leant into Jackson, letting his head rest lightly on his shoulder, returning his hug.

"Why can't they just leave it?" he muttered the question into the warmth of Jackson's neck. "And Finn? Why is he taking any notice of Cain? Taking his side?"

"It's like he said," Jackson gently smoothed his hand up and down Aaron's back as he spoke. "He can't not, really." Jackson paused. "Can he?"

For a moment the quiet question hung between them.

"You think I should go back, don't you?" asked Aaron, breaking the silence between them at last. "See what they have to say for themselves."

"I wish this had never happened," said Jackson frankly. "But now that it has," he shrugged, "I think you should hear Cain out."

Aaron pulled back a little, letting him look at Jackson's face, letting him struggle to read his expression by only the dim light cast by the fairy lights around the door.

"Do you think I've made the wrong decision?" he challenged.

"It's not about that," replied Jackson reasonably. "It's your decision to make; you did and I'll do anything I can to support you."

"But I should let Cain have his say," Aaron interrupted.

"I think now that they've done...what they've done; not knowing what he wanted to say might be more irritating than just getting it over with." Jackson cupped Aaron's face with both his hands. "It's still up to you. They can't make you do anything you don't want to." He looked steadily into Aaron's eyes in the dim light.

"Not in there though," Aaron nodded toward the house, to the sounds of the party, the bright music still loud, cheerful, in the darkness. "Not in front of everyone; not with them trying to lug in."

"What do you want to do then," asked Jackson. "Tomorrow? At Tug Ghyll?"

Aaron shook his head. "No. It has to be tonight. Now. But out here. "Will you...?"

"You wouldn't rather be inside? It's awfully cold. I'm sure Lisa could find..."

Aaron shook his head again. "No, just get them out here Jackson," he said wearily. "And just Cain and Finn. No one else."

Holding his eyes for just a moment longer, Jackson allowed his fingers to trail down Aaron's jaw before he moved away and went quickly back into the house.

Aaron didn't watch him go; he turned his head away, turned away from the house, away from the normality of the seasonal celebrations. He had thought it was over; he had made his decision; was at peace with that decision. Why couldn't they just leave it? Why was it so important if he was Cain's son or... He shook himself against the cold; against the thoughts running away with him, leading him to places that he didn't want to venture, to explore just then. Or maybe at all.

He wandered a few steps away from the front door, away from the dim light, towards the corner of the building and waited.

...

Jackson threaded his way through the mass of Dingles; family and their friends. Most of them were too busy partying to notice him; to have noticed the short, sharp altercation a few minutes earlier.

"Jackson!"

Turning, he found Hazel bearing down on him, a glass of wind in each hand.

"Jackson! Have a drink with me." She waved one of the glasses vaguely in his direction. "Where's Aaron?" Hazel's face was flushed; it was obvious to Jackson that she was enjoying the party.

"He's around – somewhere - Mum," he said, prevaricating. "I'm just looking for Finn for a minute."

"Oh he's here; or he was a few minutes ago," said Hazel, swaying uneasily round, staring blearily at the moving faces surrounding her.

"Don't worry, I'll find him," said Jackson, preparing to move away from her. "Go steady on that stuff, eh?"

"Oh Jackson! You little spoil sport!"

She reached as though to tickle him under his chin. Quicker than her, Jackson moved away, hurriedly putting a Dingle or two between them. Edging his way between the bodies, he spotted Finn at last, standing alone, leaning against the sink in the kitchen; a can of coke held disregarded in one hand. Jackson moved to his side but said nothing, letting the silence between them grow.

"That went well then," Finn said at last, his voice full of irony. "Perhaps I should have told him I was coming."

"Perhaps you should," agreed Jackson. "He thinks you've abandoned him for Cain."

"That's silly! It's not like that at all," said Finn quickly. "Cain..." he paused, sighed. "Cain needed someone to talk to. Someone to tell him to talk to Aaron."

Jackson turned to look at Finn then; he obviously knew more than he was saying; more than he could say.

"He believes he's made his decision," said Jackson. "Does he need to hear what Cain has to say?"

Finn returned Jackson's gaze at last; he nodded slowly. "I think he does, if he..."

"He'll hear him," interrupted Jackson. "But whether it will make any difference..." he stopped, let the rest of the sentence hang unspoken between them.

Finn caught his breath, nodded. "When...? Where...?" he began.

"Outside. Now," said Jackson. "It needs to be now, before he changes his mind again. Where's Cain?"

"I'll find him," said Finn quickly. "We'll come outside."

Jackson held his eyes for a moment or two longer then nodded, turned sharply and made for the door.

...

He knew the footsteps approaching him in the darkness; he knew they were Jackson's; he knew he was alone. Turning, an unspoken question filled his eyes.

"Finn's just finding Cain," said Jackson quietly, pulling Aaron into a hug. "D'you want me to leave you alone?"

"No!" replied Aaron quickly. "No, this won't take long."

They stood in silence then, their bodies pressed close against the cold. It wasn't long before they heard footsteps; two sets, one stopping short behind them; stopping so near that Aaron could feel his presence, calming his nerves even through the jangle of his anger.

The second set kept walking, walked a few steps beyond him before stopping at the corner of the cottage. The dark outline stood unmoving, saying nothing at first, letting time flow unheeded over the four silent men.

Without moving; without turning Cain at last broke the silence.

"I thought he was my dad. For years."

It took a moment before Aaron realised; before he followed the line of his eyes across the garden to the unmarked swelling in the ground, visible to their eyes, used now to the darkness.

"He wasn't ever much of a dad though. Didn't do any better when it turned out he was my uncle. Don't suppose he was much of a granddad either."

Aaron chuffed quietly, wryly; he knew, of course he knew, yet somehow it had been far from his mind, far from his consciousness. He hadn't thought.

"Family; Zak goes on about it, how important it is; The Dingles; Dingle Law." His voice, quiet in the darkness, was full of scathing sarcasm. "Yet it's all crap, we fuck each other at every opportunity; figuratively and literally. Shadrack and Zak both went with Faith; I've had Charity and Chas. Oh God!" His harsh voice caught on a stifled sob.

"I need you to do the test because I need to know that you're my son!"

In the darkness, the anguished confession hung in the air between them.

"What difference is it going to make?" snarled Aaron. "What difference does it make if I'm your son or some cuckoo in the Dingle nest? Are you going to wear a tee shirt saying 'I love my gay son'? Fly a rainbow flag from the garage? Go on gay pride marches? No? Is it going to make you love me?"

His own emotion was clear in his voice; angry, hurt yet challenging too.

"Well?" he questioned the silence. "Will you love me if I'm your son?"

"No."

For a moment time stood still, the world, his world stood on a precipice, a timeless pause before tumbling to oblivion. Suddenly the cold, a chill that was nothing to do with the frost of a winter night, invaded the very bones of him. He was nothing.

"No," continued Cain without pausing, "because nothing, nothing! could make me love you more than I already do. Nothing could make me prouder of you than I am."

"Yet nothing will do but that test? That bit of paper?" Aaron's voice was full of sadness now, all the fight, the anger disappearing from him.

"Yes. No. I don't know," confusion coloured Cain's words, muddled his thinking now after so much time spent thinking.

Standing close, side by side, staring out across the dark garden, they had both forgotten Jackson and Finn waiting nearby; near enough to hear their conversation. Cain jumped at the touch on his arm.

"I believe he's your son." Jackson spoke the words quietly but firmly, convinced in his own mind.

"I believe he's your son." Finn moved forward and looked between the two men, looked into Aaron's eyes; glad to see the softening of forgiveness there.

"He is your son!" None of the men realised they had been joined by another person; they had missed the light footsteps; the silent presence behind them; listening. "He's my brother," Debbie said, her voice brooking no dissent, no disagreement.

"I told you to look in the mirror," she continued, her tone challenging as she looked at Cain. "Did you? Did you do that?" catching hold of both their arms, she dragged them, unprotesting, a few steps to the front of the cottage, to a curtained widow that reflected the dancing fairly lights of the porch. Roughly she pushed them together, shoulder to equal shoulder. "Now look!" she demanded.

Slowly, reluctantly Aaron raised his head, looked. Slowly he let his eyes play over the two faces looking back at him. Dark hair; his own shorter; the other – longer; two faces, two scowling surly expressions mirroring each other; mirrored in the sparkling glass. Their eyes met.

"Well," challenged Debbie at last, breaking the silence after they had surely looked enough. "Have you looked at him? Have you looked at yourself? Think of yourself almost twenty years ago. Go and look at the old photographs stuffed in the drawer at Tug Ghyll! Do you need that piece of paper, Dad? Do you?" Her voice was becoming angry; how come they could not see what was before their eyes; what Finn, what Jackson, what anyone who thought to look could see.

"No."

It was a whisper; hardly more than a breath in the cold night air.

"Say it again!" demanded Debbie. "Say it to him, not me!" Dragging them again, she pulled them round until they had no choice but to face each other.

"I'm sorry," whispered Cain. "Can you see it too?"

Aaron nodded; his head moving slowly in contrast to the thoughts tumbling around in his mind. How come they hadn't seen it before; how come it had taken an accusation flung in anger by Gordon? How come it had taken Debbie getting them to see what had been in front of them all the time? How come no one else had seen it? Or had they…and said nothing? Or was it just that no one had been looking?

He hadn't been looking; not until that night. That night Gordon Livesy had destroyed his certainty. Since then he had been running. Since then he had been scared to look; scared of who he might be; scared that knowing might be worse than not knowing. Why had their eyes been so closed?

"I can't call you that…call you dad…just yet," he muttered, looking away.

"That's fine!" Debbie answered for him. "Isn't it?" She looked Cain; daring him to disagree.

"Yes…yes of course. Nothing will change," he added. It seemed impossible; he felt confused, muddled somehow. He needed time to think. "I'm going to get away, head home. I'll see you later." He turned but was stopped in his tracks as Debbie reached up to him, put her arms round him; hugged him tightly.

"It'll be alright," she said. "For both of you." She released her hold on Cain but instead of moving away, she quickly, surprisingly caught Aaron to her and hugged him.

"I need to go and find Finn," said Aaron as Debbie let him go. He hadn't noticed him and Jackson leaving but glancing round now, he could see no sign of either of them.

"It'll be fine, honestly," said Debbie quickly, urgently, as he turned away.

His smile was watery, unsteady; but it was a smile.

…..

He found Finn easily; he was with Jackson and Greg in the kitchen of Wishing Well Cottage. Around them the music still played, bodies still danced and swayed and sat taking long, thirsty drinks at cans of beer. They seemed oblivious; Jackson picked nervously at the ingrained dirt of his fingernails. Finn had his head buried in Greg's shoulder, hiding his face, letting Greg's hand smooth the length of his back. For a moment or two Aaron watched them unseen before moving towards them.

Jackson saw him then, making his way towards them; yet saw that all his attention was on Finn. A ghost of a smile touched the corners of his mouth; everything was alright, or at least, on the way to being alright. He could read Aaron like a book; could read the resolution in his eyes; blue eyes that melted his heart as he knew his intention.

Catching Greg's eyes as he eased Finn away from his comforting embrace, Aaron let his own eyes drop; awkwardness overwhelming him.

He touched Finn lightly on his arm, pulling his fingers away as though they had been burned as Finn turned.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in a voice that could hardly be heard above the noise engulfing them. "I was wrong; I shouldn't have said…what I said. I should have known you wouldn't abandon me."

"Never!" breathed Finn. "I would never abandon you!"

"Can you forgive me?" asked Aaron, his eyes bright now with unshed tears.

"Forgive you?" replied Finn, his voice unexpectedly shaky. "You're asking me that! I should be asking you for forgiveness, for interfering; for pushing you."

"At least you didn't need to hit me with a sledge hammer to get me to see sense," half laughed half sobbed Aaron.

"Only a metaphorical one," agreed Finn. "Oh come here!" He pulled Aaron to him; hugged him; held him so close that Aaron could feel his hot breath on the cold skin of his neck, could relish the strong arms holding him, reassuring him.

"Are we okay then?" asked Aaron as they moved apart.

"Of course we are," smiled Finn, a touch of his usual exuberance beginning to reassert itself. "If you're okay with us being here," he added, a catch, a hesitation returning to his tone.

"Of course I am," smiled Aaron. "Shall we start your holiday again tomorrow?"

"I'd like that," smiled Finn. "Aaron!" he said, as Aaron turned away, turning him back. "I'm sorry; I don't usually get it so wrong."

"You didn't Finn," reassured Aaron gently. "You did everything exactly right. Thank you. Tomorrow yeah?"

"Tomorrow," agreed Finn, watching as Aaron and Jackson made their way towards the door; closed it behind them.

...

In the dim light of their bedroom a short while later, Aaron flung off most of his clothes save his tee shirt and boxers and slid under the covers as quickly as possible.

"Jeez! You're freezing!" exclaimed Jackson, sliding in beside him, tentatively touching him.

"You're not so toasty yourself," grumbled Aaron cheerfully; curling his body around Jackson.

"You okay?" asked Jackson as Aaron hugged himself hard against him.

"Yeah. Just a bit..." he paused. "Just a bit of a funny evening. Stuff to think about. Just hold me now though. I don't want to think about anything else tonight."

Jackson pulled him tighter than ever; his fingers rubbing through the short spikes of his lover's hair.

...

In Tug Ghyll he lay on his bed; there was a dampness around his eyes, across his cheeks that he didn't want to explain, to admit; even to himself. His hands played with a box, twisted it, backwards and forwards; forwards and backwards. He had thought about it, built his hopes on it but Debbie was right; it was just a piece of paper. Almost angrily, he crushed the soft box between his hands and hurled it across the room.

He didn't need a piece of paper now.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

"I can't believe its New Year's Eve tomorrow," said Jackson, unbuttoning his shirt.

It was late; they had been out with Finn and Greg, but now, in the dim light of their bedroom as they undressed together, Jackson knew it would some time yet before they slept. He had been flirting with Aaron all evening, letting him catch his eyes watching him, then moving his gaze deliberately, suggestively, to his groin; fleeting, teasing touches and as many innuendoes as he could manage. Aaron was hot for him, he knew; it was mutual, even thinking about him, wanting him, taking him, made Jackson's cock swell and ache against the constricting material of his jeans.

"I am so looking forward to tomorrow night!" declared Aaron. Quicker than Jackson, he was already in bed, already waiting, anticipating. Under the covers, he was almost hard already; could feel the clenching desire; need making his body tingle. Watching Jackson undress, he couldn't wait; one hand touched his cock; not gripping, not yet, he was waiting for Jackson's touch, his hard caress; for now he just lightly moved fingers, letting his thumb play up and down the shaft, straying upwards, circling.

Jackson noticed! He hadn't meant to let him see; to know that he had started without him! Aaron felt a surprising flush of colour creep quickly across his cheeks.

"Don't stop!" Jackson sat sideways on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked underneath him. He reached out, pulled back the covers, revealing Aaron holding himself, his light grip on his rigid cock.

"Show me," he whispered. "Show me what you were doing; how you were touching yourself." He trailed feather-light fingers teasingly down the inside of Aaron's thigh as he spoke, from his groin to his knee, yet somehow this lightest of pressure was enough to make Aaron move his leg, opening himself, exposing himself to Jackson's hungry gaze.

"Tell me," he murmured quietly. "Tell me what you're thinking about; what it feels like touching yourself, knowing I'm watching you. Tell me what you want to do to me...what you want me to do to you." Not touching him now, just looking, Jackson knew his gaze would be like fingers of fire ranging over Aaron's body, arousing him further.

Aaron groaned; his whole body suddenly aflame; his groin, his balls clenching, almost hurting.

"Shit Jay! What d'you want me to do!"

"I've told you; touch yourself; talk to me."

Groaning again, Aaron gripped his cock tighter, began moving his hand.

"Do you like what you see, Jay?" he began awkwardly, uncertainly. "Do you like watching me touch myself, knowing that I am imagining you touching me, making me hard, making me want you?" Aaron shifted a little further down the bed, letting his leg rub against Jackson's naked flank. Their eyes met, devouring each other; dark in the dim light of the bedroom; lust-filled, both holding themselves back, prolonging their excitement, sure in the knowledge that they would not deny each other fulfilment for long.

"I love what I see," whispered Jackson. It was all he could do to stop himself from reaching out, taking Aaron's cock in his own hand, working it. But no! Not yet.

"You'd like to suck me off, wouldn't you Jay," breathed Aaron, warming to the game; enjoying himself now. "You know it turns me on so much, your tongue licking me; tasting me. Your lips sliding over me, swallowing me, as I fuck your face until I cum in your mouth."

Jackson found he was holding his breath, enhancing the ache in his own rigid cock; he breathed, gasping for air yet not wanting to lose the feelings spreading through him; twisting, teasing at his groin.

"Then I want to fuck you properly, Jay," Aaron continued. "I don't want to waste this; I want to fuck your arse; bury myself so far into to you that you won't be able to sit down for a week." The words tumbled from his mouth now, urgently as his need increased, as he moved faster, getting closer.

Unable to help himself now, Jackson flung himself across Aaron's lap. Facing away from him, he twisted, bracing himself on one hand; the other reaching behind him, joining Aaron's hand on his cock; rubbing, covering his fingers with the juice already leaking from his slit. Releasing Aaron, he moved his hand to his butt cheeks, caressed once! twice! before moving to his puckering, pleading hole, smearing the juice from his fingers around his entrance, even sliding one finger in, preparing to be taken; knowing Aaron was watching even as he had watched him.

Arching his back, pushing his arse back, making it clear what he wanted; there were a few seconds as Aaron scrabbled to get into a better position. Leaning over Jackson's back now, he quickly, harshly pushed first one finger, then a second, into his arse. Hardly giving his muscles time to relax, to prepare themselves, his fingers gave way to his cock; teasing Jackson's hole for a second or two before thrusting in. Hard. Not caring for any discomfort, any pain he might be causing Jackson; that was part of it, part of the pleasure; taking, possessing, violating.

Almost crying out, Jackson pushed himself back to welcome Aaron, to draw him in even further. Rhythmically matching their movements, their bodies crashed hard together with each thrust. On his knees, Aaron lent over Jackson's back; reaching round his hips, at last his fingers touched Jackson's cock, began pumping, began the dance that quickly brought them together to the edge, to the precipice until they jumped, flying, crashing together, into the crescendo of their united orgasm. Until eventually they sank, exhausted onto the bed and lay still, silent except for their gasping breathes. Silent except for the whimper of pain as Aaron finally eased himself from Jackson's body. Then silence. For a while. Eventually they slept.

...

Aaron leaned against the kitchen worktop, slowly nibbling the cold, hard toast in his hand.

"What's wrong with your face?" chuckled Paddy questioningly, coming through from the surgery.

"Nothing. I'm fine," growled Aaron.

"Jackson then; is something wrong between you?" he continued.

"No," snarled Aaron. "He's fine; we're fine."

"I thought so," laughed Paddy. "You're not exactly quiet when you're being fine, the pair of you."

Aaron made an impatient noise; flinging the remains of the uneaten toast into the bin, he grabbed a jacket from the peg and went out of the front door; slamming it behind him.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Paddy as Jackson came into the kitchen.

"He's decided that he needs to go and see Chas," answered Jackson, reaching for a bowl, filling it with cereal and milk. "He's been putting it off all week, using Finn and Greg being here as an excuse. But he thinks he should go and clear the air with her; he hasn't been near her since Boxing Day and wasn't exactly comfortable with her then. New year, new start," he added, beginning to eat.

"And is he...? What's he...?" stuttered Paddy.

"I don't know Paddy," said Jackson. "But I'm just gonna leave him to it at the moment and I suggest you do the same." He got up and dropped his bowl into the sink.

Lying on their bed a few minutes later; he pushed his earphones firmly into his ears and turned the volume up as high as he could stand on his iPod. He needed to block out his thoughts for a while; he didn't want to think about Aaron just now; didn't want to worry.

...

Huddled into his jacket against the cold, Aaron slouched down the road; he didn't know why he was doing this, why Jackson thought he should. Not that he had said anything, or even hinted really; but Aaron knew. It wasn't as if they had argued or anything; okay, he'd been a bit sharp with her and maybe a bit distant over Christmas. But he hadn't deliberately avoided her; had he?

It didn't take long enough, the short walk down the hill. He stood at the gate, looking over it into the winter-dead garden, considering running away. There was something about him and his mum, some spark that always flared hotly between them, antagonising them, damaging them.

He turned, about to continue down the road, escape, when the cut glass voice stopped him.

"You can come in you know; I don't bite."

She was hanging out of the upstairs window; he could see her hair dishevelled in the aftermath of sleep; her face wiped clean of her usual harsh make-up. She looked younger, more vulnerable; almost pleading with him.

He clicked open the gate; was aware of her watching him as he walked up the path. He heard the window close firmly above him seconds before he opened the front door. He heard her feet scuttling across the floor, down the stairs; he stood, uncertainly, waiting, until she appeared.

"Coffee," she said, pulling her small dressing gown around her more closely. She moved to the kitchen, filled the kettle, found mugs and spooned instant granules into them both.

Aaron said nothing, he didn't know what to say, where to start. He leaned against the worktop, watching; not watching.

"So-o," she said eventually; her back to him as she took milk from the fridge. "No test then?"

"Cain's been talking then has he." The way he spoke; it wasn't a question.

"Of course he was gonna tell me," she said. "You haven't. Oh no! I don't mean anything by that," she added quickly as she saw his eyebrows begin to furrow, a dark look spread across his face. "How do you feel about that?"

Aaron shrugged. "Never wanted the test in the first place." He took the mug of coffee from her but didn't move from his place against the worktops.

"And about Cain? As your dad?" she probed.

For a moment, he said nothing; how did he feel? It made sense; in a funny kind of way. Gordon had never been much of a dad, even when he believed he was Aaron's father. Cain, in his way, had been more of a father when he was an uncle; but not like Paddy; Paddy had become his dad.

He shrugged again; so many thoughts tumbling around in his head. He tried to blank them out, not think too much, not let them overwhelm him; but it was hard. And it was too soon.

"It's okay," he said. "It will be okay," he qualified. He took a deep breath; "I'm sorry," he said. "Sorry I've been a bit...y'know..."

"No! You haven't...well you have, a bit; but that's fine, love! It's been a lot to get your head round. Oh come here!" She pulled him towards her.

Unresisting, he let her arms fold around him; he felt more than heard the sobs that began to shudder through her body. Almost without conscious thought, he put his arms around her, returned her hug, stroked his fingers through her long, dark hair, tuggie after a night's sleep.

"I'm so sorry," she said a few minutes later when they finally drew apart. "What we did...we should never have..."

"It's fine," he cut in soothingly. "You were young, Dingles; besides, I'm quite glad you did; I wouldn't be here if you hadn't. I wouldn't have Jackson; wouldn't have you," he added. He smiled; a tentative, watery smile; smile that began to ask for understanding, a new beginning perhaps.

"So," she began, making it a question. "Are we alright? You and me, because I never know what you're thinking? And I try! try to understand, try to get close; but it's like you put up this huge wall, keeping me out."

He looked at her, he knew it was true; there was a little core of resentment at the centre of his love for her; a little unforgiving knot of pain when he thought of the years she had left him with Gordon. Perhaps it would always colour their relationship, but perhaps he could accept it, defuse the hurt and move on. Whatever he could or couldn't do, he at least owed it to her to try.

"Yes," he said after what seemed like an eternity, after what was a few seconds. "Yes, we're alright, Mum." He pulled her to him again, hugged her again; he didn't know if it was enough; he didn't know how he would feel in one month, two; in six months, but he could try; for her, for them.

"Any chance of a bacon buttie?" he asked.

...

"Come in guys; to the right there Greg!" Robbie stood back and held the door open, allowing Greg, Finn, Aaron and Jackson to move past him into the small flat. "I'll give you the guided tour while Simon sticks the kettle on."

It only took a few minutes to show them the two bedrooms, bathroom; to glance into the kitchen where Simon was making coffee and juggling pots and pans, the smell of food making them all hungry.

"Aaron and Jackson usually manage with the single bed," he continued as they returned to the living room. "We've borrowed an airbed that we can blow up in here later; I hope you'll be ok on that?"

"We'll be absolutely fine," reassured Greg. "Cushioned by a good few pints and we could sleep anywhere!"

"Play your cards right and you could squeeze in between me and Robbie," teased Simon suggestively, carefully carrying four mugs of coffee, two in each hand, into the room.

"Now that sounds like an offer I can't refuse," replied Greg. "You won't mind, will you Finn?" he asked.

"No no! You go for it!" said Finn, his voice serious. "I'll just squeeze in with Aaron and Jackson, or they could join me on the airbed, give us a bit more room. We could swap later if you want, that way we can give them all a try, compare notes, marks out of ten!"

"Hey! Wait a minute!" protested Simon.

"Ah so you can dish it out but can't take it, eh? Simon," teased Robbie. "Or worried that you'd only get an eight out of ten!"

"Oi! You're supposed to be on my side!" said Simon, sounding aggrieved.

"Aw sweetheart!" soothed Robbie, "getting worried are you? Don't worry; I won't let these bad men have their wicked way with you. Those sausages aren't burning are they?"

"No they're not! And who's doing the cooking anyway!" Turning, he retreated to the kitchen, muttering to himself. "I am definitely more than an eight!"

The easy banter continued through their meal, Simon producing a huge fry up, announcing it was a preventative measure to cure their hangovers before they had even started.

It was after nine before they left the flat for the walk to Bar West; the streets of Hotton already full of happy, half drunk revellers anticipating the New Year, still almost three hours away.

Bar West was busy but not yet mobbed when they arrived. The pool table had been removed, in its place a band played loud, cheerful music; beside them, a karaoke machine stood waiting.

"Oh no," groaned Greg as he saw Finn's eyes light up as he noticed it.

"Oh! Yours too," said Robbie sympathetically.

"Yes!" replied Greg, "and it's always 'Save the Last Dance for Me', you know, the old Drifters song. And he's so cheesy with it!"

"American Pie," said Robbie. "Tell you what, we'll go and hide somewhere together once they start. Deal?"

"Deal," agreed Greg, laughing.

Aaron and Simon worked their way to the bar, ordered the drinks.

"You okay kid?" asked Simon, serious for a moment. It wasn't really that many days since they were last at Bar West; since...just over a week. "If you don't want to go on your own, just give me the nod."

"Thanks," replied Aaron, grateful that Simon had remembered, had thought. Jackson had already told him he wasn't to go alone, just in case; now Simon. He felt safe; he felt...loved. He smiled, ready to enjoy the evening.

By the time midnight came, they had gravitated to the third floor. For a while during the evening they had lost Finn and Simon to the karaoke; Greg and Robbie melting away through the crowds as Aaron and Jackson had lingered, cheering and whistling encouragement, receiving the teasing, flirtatious glances of the performers in return.

As the minutes of the old year ticked away they found each other again, queued to refill their glasses and waited, feeling the mounting anticipation of the changing year sweeping through the crowds.

Suddenly the music stopped!

"Ten!"

"Nine!"

The countdown was taken up by voices throughout the bar.

"Eight!"

"Seven!"

"Six!"

The roars of excitement echoed up and down the three floors of the building.

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Three!"

Aaron grabbed Jackson's arm, pulled him close.

"Two!"

"One!"

"Happy New Year!"

Around them, the words reverberated through the crowds; whispered to a lover, shouted to everybody. Auld Lang Syne came over the sound system; half remembered words were sung, hands shaken, hugs and kisses exchanged.

Aaron pulled Jackson closer, into his arms, kissed him; restrained at first, then hungrily, letting his lips crush Jackson's, wanting to possess him.

"Happy New Year," he whispered as they paused to breathe.

"And you," replied Jackson, looking into Aaron's eyes, smiling. "Dance with me?" he whispered.

Unresisting for once, allowing his hand to be taken, allowing himself to be gently lead onto the dance floor, full again of moving, swaying bodies; Aaron let his hands slide around Jackson's hips as Jackson's rested on his shoulders. Not quite ignoring the music, they danced, oblivious to the dancers around them; they danced to their own music.

The first hours of the new year passed in a blur; a whirl of music; of bodies pressed close on the dance floor and off, of greetings and good wishes given and received.

The new year was four hours old when they emerged from Bar West; still high with the excitement of the evening; falsely sober after many drinks. The streets were still busy; good-natured party goers still partying or making their way noisily home.

"Toast everyone?" Robbie asked as they piled into the flat.

"And cheese!" demanded Simon. "I'll help; you guys go through and get comfy, we won't be long."

The small living room seemed crowded with so many people in it; against one wall, the airbed, already inflated, stood waiting for the evening to be over, adding to the sense of fullness. As Robbie and Simon busied themselves in the kitchen, Aaron sprawled in one of the armchairs, leaving Jackson, Finn and Greg sharing the sofa.

Quickly made, it was only a few minutes before the familiar after alcohol favourite arrived in front of them; plates piled high with toasted cheese placed on the coffee table. Simon perched on the arm of Aaron's chair, gradually leaning further into him until he slid low enough to be almost on his lap; sharing the seat with him.

"Resolutions!" declared Simon, hooking his arm around Aaron's neck to anchor himself as he leant forward, helping himself to two slices of toasted cheese. Balancing one slice on his leg, he bit hungrily into the other. "Aaron?" he prompted, ruffling the fingers of his arm, still draped around his neck, through his hair.

"Don't do them," mumbled Aaron, his mouth full of the food.

"Finn?" persisted Simon.

"Oh I don't know," began Finn. "Usual stuff; to be a better person, less judgmental, lose weight," he laughed gently at himself as he spoke.

"You! Judgmental!" scoffed Jackson, "I don't believe it!"

"Oh you'd better believe it!" laughed Greg. "You should hear him if I burn the tea!" He gasped suddenly, twisted, as Finn's fingers found a sensitive spot and tickled him.

Backwards and forwards, the conversation easily flowed; resolutions they had made, broken; new year celebrations they remembered.

Aaron sat quietly, comfortable in his friend's arm, valuing the relationship built over the past months. Listening, half listening, letting his thoughts drift a little; letting them stray to Jackson, to his family, his mum...his...

"My mum," he said out loud. "That's my resolution; be nicer to my mum." He paused, "and my dad," he finished quietly.

Across the room, Jackson smiled at him, his chocolate brown eyes warm, full of love. Next to him, Simon hugged him gently, a hug of encouragement, of friendship.

It wasn't an awkward silence, it was a reflective silence; each of them thinking of their own lives, that of their friends around them; the experiences, the changes the last year had brought them, together and separately.

"Holidays then?" said Simon, before reflection could become melancholia. "Who's got anything planned?"

"Oh Simon!" groaned Robbie. "It's the first of January! Nobody has started thinking about holidays yet."

"Well I like thinking about holidays; having something to look forward to when the weather's horrible," declared Simon. "What are you two doing?" He looked at Finn and Greg.

"To be honest, we don't usually do much," admitted Finn. "Visit family; a few days here and there."

Simon nodded. "And you?" He nodded towards Jackson.

"Don't know," said Jackson. "Hadn't really thought about it; maybe go away in the van again; it was good...most of it."

"Why don't you hire a proper motor home?" asked Robbie. He was looking at Aaron as he spoke but glanced at Simon sitting next to him, saw the light of excitement enter his lover's eyes, as the idea struck him; as in a split second the summer unfolded itself in front of him.

"Why don't we all hire motor homes," said Simon, still thinking it through as he spoke. "Head off together. An adventure; a road trip!"

Aaron glanced at Jackson, at his friends; everyone was smiling. The last few months of winter still stretched ahead of them but the sun was already shining with plans for the summer.

...

In Tug Ghyll he had celebrated New Year with his daughter, his granddaughter, allowed to stay up for the bells for the first time. He slept now, content, at peace with his world; excited at the year ahead; excited at the prospect of getting to know him as his son.

THE END

...

_Well I've decided to end Winter there, with the prospect of another summer road trip, this time with their friends, ahead of them and Cain and Aaron both resolving to accept and explore their new relationship. I hope everyone has enjoyed this story, and thanks to everyone who took the trouble to review it, especially those of you who commented on every chapter, and those of you who got excited on Twitter every time I uploaded a chapter. And thanks too for all the ideas you gave me! I think I am going to bow out of Aarson fics here; if inspiration strikes I might write the odd one shot, but no more long fics. It's been fun, but it's time to get back to the real world. Thanks again, G. xx_


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